


Managing Trouble

by ABrighterDarkness, Britt_pknapp



Series: Managing Trouble [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Banter, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Captain America Steve Rogers/Modern Bucky Barnes, Feelings, Feelings Realization, M/M, Manipulation, Minor Character Death, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Project Insight (Marvel), Protective Natasha Romanov, Protective Tony Stark, Public Relations, SHIELD, Sabotage, Stark Industries, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers and the 21st Century, Threats, Tony Stark Has A Heart, War Veteran Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:21:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 31,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27706196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ABrighterDarkness/pseuds/ABrighterDarkness, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Britt_pknapp/pseuds/Britt_pknapp
Summary: Steve wasn’t sure what to expect.  He had already made his opinions on this whole PR team thing pretty crystal clear.  He wasn’t sure if he was surprised or not when Pepper Potts gave him a small, amused smile and handed him a small stack of carefully labeled file folders.“It’s for the best, Steve,” she had said patiently. “Either SHIELD handles the entirety of your public image for you, or we get a step ahead and let you have at least some control over the situation.”Despite knowing that she was absolutely correct--he had little doubt that SHIELD would be more than happy to continue shaping his persona the same way they had done for the last seven decades--Steve couldn’t bring himself to be pleased with the concept.  Why couldn’t he just speak for himself?
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Rebecca Barnes Proctor, James "Bucky" Barnes & Tony Stark, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson, Steve Rogers & Tony Stark
Series: Managing Trouble [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2076381
Comments: 32
Kudos: 234
Collections: Marvel Reverse Big Bang 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Marvel Reverse Big Bang!
> 
> I had a lot of fun, and a lot of struggles, with writing this one but I am excited to share this contribution to the 2020 Marvel Reverse Big Bang. 
> 
> A huge shoutout to britt_pknapp for the outstandingly gorgeous artwork! I had a lot of fun work on this with you and thank you so much for the opportunity to turn your art and prompt into a story! <3
> 
> A huge thank you to swisstea for taking the time to beta this. I am so very, very grateful for all of your amazing help and kind words <3

Bucky let his mind go on the usual tangent as he gave his body free reign on the bag dangling from the sturdy mount on the ceiling. It was plenty early enough that the gym was virtually empty but he had many long years of experience in starting his days early and ending them...whenever they just so happened to end. 

This though? This was the small corner of his day that was just his. Music blasting in his ears, drowning out any distractions and nothing but him and the bags. The treadmill fell into the routine some days, as did weights and bodyweight routines. Some days he dipped into his memory of his too-damn-many months of training and pulled out harder stuff that had once been meant to break him down and rebuild him into something new. But those were for maintenance, keeping himself up to par with expectations and requirements. 

But mornings with the bags were his time to come back to ground. Preemptively prepare himself for whatever the day to come might have to throw at him and to shed off whatever the day before had done and whatever decided to revisit him during the sleeping hours. 

Which is why he thought he was justified in his annoyance when his playlist cut off less than halfway through the time he allotted and his phone rang through his ears instead. Bucky groaned and swore under his breath but steadied the bag, using clumsy, wrapped hands to fumble with his phone to accept the call.

“This is Barnes,” he said flatly as he regained control of his breathing that hadn’t even gotten the opportunity to really start straining before the interruption.

 _“Good morning, Mister Barnes,”_ a familiar woman’s voice came through. 

“Ms Potts,” Bucky greeted, forcing back a resigned sigh. If she was calling this early that meant his morning was starting earlier than planned. “What can I do for you?”

 _“I have a potential job opportunity for you,”_ she said. 

“With all due respect, ma’am, I would be in the office in less than two hours,” Bucky pointed out as politely as he could manage even as confusion for the oddness of the call for something that could have likely waited until regular hours.

 _“Mister Barnes. James,”_ she sighed. _“This isn’t going to be your typical opportunity and if you accept it and are selected you will only be tangantly connected to Stark Industries going forward. I have your name included in an exceptionally short list of candidates. If I’m entirely honest with you, I find it very likely that you will be the individual that’s chosen.”_

“What do I need to know?” he asked, knowing that his tone had all-too-easily slipped into the clipped tone utilized in the field when he wore an entirely different daily uniform. Bucky distractedly unwrapped his hands as he listened, tossing the cloth into his bag and taking the moment to wipe down the bag with one of the provided wipes. He tossed it in the trash and scooped up his bag. It was a matter of minutes before he was back out on the sidewalk, noting absently that the sun hadn’t even fully rose yet.

 _“I’ll be able to better brief you once you’re here,”_ she admitted. _“But I wanted to be sure that you had warning enough to come in prepared for an interview today. I know I don’t need to tell you what that means but I want you in this position, if at all possible.”_

“Why me?” Bucky asked curiously after a brief pause to consider her words.

 _“You have the best chance of making this work,”_ she said bluntly. _“The person you will be interviewing with is reluctant on the need for a PR manager and there are...entities that are interested in doing it for them and we’re not about to let that happen, are we Mister Barnes?”_

“No ma’am,” Bucky said automatically, smirking slightly in amusement. He always had appreciated the manner that had her capable of getting people to do exactly as she wanted them to. Pepper Potts was as much of a force of nature as anyone he’d met up until that point. “So I need to come in swinging, that’s what you’re saying. I’m on a short list to be selected but I need to make sure it sticks.”

 _“Excellent, I knew I could count on you, Mister Barnes,”_ she said easily. _“I’ll send what details I can to your email along with the time and location of your interview.”_

“Yes, ma’am,” he agreed. “Anything else.”

 _“Were I speaking to anyone else, I would remind you not to be late but I believe I still faintly recall walking in on your opinions on tardiness being made crystal clear some time ago,”_ her tone was amused.

“I’ll be there,” Bucky said in agreement, nodding even though he knew it wouldn’t be seen. The call disconnected moments later following professionally polite ‘goodbyes’. It took very little time to get back to his apartment where he quickly dug through his closet with a critical eye. It would have helped if he knew _who_ he was interviewing with. 

He carefully tossed his selection onto his still-messy bed and retreated to the bathroom to get ready for the day. Showering and cleaning up the scruff that had accumulated on his face, taming his hair that wanted to try to curl if he didn’t force it not to. Bucky paused, considering his reflection thoughtfully before opting to give his hair some small amount of free reign rather than taming it entirely.

Bucky knew that he had always been rather fastidious about his appearance, even long before his enlistment and requirements to maintain regulation standards. He knew what worked for him and what didn’t. He was meticulous, even on the days he let a few days worth of scruff accumulate.

He liked looking good, so sue him.

It certainly helped that he had spent a good number of years just learning how to be comfortable in his own skin. _That_ had only come once he left active duty and felt as though he had some ownership over himself again. There had been a brief time where he had let it all go, unable to bring himself to focus on something comparatively trivial. Between taking on a full-time course load for his PR studies, getting picked up to work security for Stark Industries--and later taken on by their PR department--and the responsibilities he still held to his Guard position, all immediately after his departure from active duty, it had been a couple of intense years. 

After the first few months, it wore on Bucky more than his pride would ever allow himself to admit. That had been where the early morning workouts and the return to his attention to his appearance had fallen back into place. Maybe it should have felt like adding something to an already overly heavy schedule, but the fairly small change in his routine had helped to stabilize what, in hindsight, he knew might have been a pretty rough burnout. 

Six years later and he made a point to maintain it. It no longer required the strict adherence that it initially needed and some days he lessened or skipped one thing or another. But the routine worked and that’s all he needed from it, even if the guys from his old unit--and his current one--still liked to give him shit for it.

Bucky glanced at the clock as he pulled his jacket over his shoulders and shifted until it settled properly. He had plenty of time to grab coffee on his way in. Another benefit to early mornings. He fastened his watch around his wrist as he left his bedroom and gathered his wallet, phone and keys on the way out of the door. 

He would like to be able to say that he had patience enough to not jump straight into his emails the very moment he sat behind his desk. Or that he didn’t skip over a dozen unread messages to open the one sent directly from Pepper Potts. He would _like_ to be able to say that nothing about the email remotely surprised him. Or maybe that he was completely prepared to read that he was expected to meet with _Steve Rogers_ in less than two hours for the opportunity to act as PR manager.

Suffice to say, he couldn’t honestly claim any one of those things.

He sat back in his chair and stared disbelievingly at the words on the screen in front of him. Had the email been sent by anyone else, he would have automatically assumed that they were trying to pull one over on him. He wouldn’t have believed it, not for a single minute. But this was Pepper Potts, who had also personally called him hours before to make sure he knew before finding it in his email.

This was amazing news. An outstanding opportunity that there was no way he was going to miss out on. 

And fuck his life if it wasn’t terrible news all at the same damn time. 

He was a professional to the nth degree and, while he was mostly confident that he could get through this interview as seamlessly as he could any other, that didn’t mean it wasn’t going to be somewhat painful. Bucky was fairly positive that he wasn’t the first teenage boy who discovered more about his personal appreciation of the male form by way of Captain America than anything else and he was just as positive that he wasn’t the last. But who in their right mind could go about reading the almost fantastical story of a man with everything in the world against him who still fought to what should have been his end and _not_ be more than a little smitten?

Not that it particularly mattered considering that he had spent a _lot_ of years forcing that part of him down, down, _down._ He wasn’t just in the closet, his closet was an underground bunker whose hatch had seized up a number of years ago. He made friends with his unit and, sometimes, outside of it and that had been enough. He hadn’t dated, had easily and happily avoided even the more casual relationships even after his discharge and his transition to his Guard unit. Anything that might have had the unintended consequences of outing him. He had found his niche, or so he had thought, and wasn’t about to give it up for anything, especially not for something that he could just as easily tolerate going without. 

Bucky had known long before he was of age to join that he was enlisting. It’s what the men in his family did and it was a tradition that he had been pretty fucking proud to continue. The only one that ever tried to talk him out of it was his sister and she had only made the attempt once. But between Don’t Ask Don’t Tell and that he ended up with a very tight Special Forces unit, he tucked away his understanding of himself and buried it deep. In some ways, it was a benefit. When working with and around a wide variety of attractive people, he thought that maybe it was a boon that he wasn’t nearly as easily distracted from his mission as others might be. 

Bucky couldn’t help but snort humorlessly at the multitude of memories that tagged along with the line of thought. They didn’t sting the same way that they had done in the moment. 

He wasn’t about to let that, _any of that,_ get in the way of doing his job though. He never had and he never would. Especially not a career-defining opportunity like this. And yet, here he was about ready to spend who-knew-how-long with the man who had been his first and last acknowledged crush.

He supposed it was time to make sure all those mental hatches were still fully latched, locked, and seized.

“Time to roll, Soldier,” he muttered under his breath and hour later as he locked his phone in his desk drawer. Bucky took a moment to take a deep breath and draw his focus the same way he would have done with a rifle in his hands and a scoped pointed down range. He knew his shit, he was good at it. He wasn’t about to have his teenage-self get in the way of this. 

Wasn’t. Going. To. Happen.

“Let’s do this,” he said quietly with a small smirk. He could do this. 

Cakewalk.

Hopefully.

* * *

Steve wasn’t sure what to expect. He had already made his opinions on this whole PR team _thing_ pretty crystal clear. He wasn’t sure if he was surprised or not when Pepper Potts gave him a small, amused smile and handed him a small stack of carefully labeled file folders. 

“It’s for the best, Steve,” she had said patiently. “Either SHIELD handles the entirety of your public image for you, or we get a step ahead and let you have at least some control over the situation.”

Despite knowing that she was absolutely correct--he had little doubt that SHIELD would be more than happy to continue shaping his persona the same way they had done for the last seven decades--Steve couldn’t bring himself to be pleased with the concept. Why couldn’t he just speak for himself?

Nat liked to say that he developed foot-in-mouth syndrome unless he was in speech-mode. Maybe that’s why Pepper was pushing it as hard as she was. Surely she, of all people, would be familiar with that sort of thing considering how close she was with Tony.

The files that Ms Potts had given him were six candidates that he was recommended to choose from to join the team that SHIELD was already attempting to put together. He knew that he could choose any or all of the candidates. He had been informed that there were a few that were from SI’s PR department and others from external sources that would be more than capable of doing their job to a high standard.

Steve had met the first three throughout the preceding days and, frankly, had been entirely unimpressed. He could only hope that at least one of these people would be someone he could at least entertain the idea of working alongside. Otherwise he’d have to chase them off one-by-one until they finally just _left him alone_. 

But then he would likely have to contend with yet _another_ stack of folders being forced into his hands. 

That being said, Steve could hear the familiar, steady cadence of footsteps approaching the small conference room that Ms Potts had suggested he use when meeting his potential PR managers. A quick glance at the folder in front of him confirmed that this should be James Barnes. There was a sharp knock on the doorframe of the door that Steve had left propped open. Steve stilled in his chair as he looked up to study the new arrival.

And wow. Yeah, this was definitely starting off better than the previous interviews. 

He was Steve’s age, give or take a few years and of similar height. Where the serum had made Steve’s body thicker and broader, this man was lean but held himself with a sure confidence that he knew _exactly_ how to use what he had. It was a self-assured confidence that almost palpably toed the line of cockiness. It wasn’t the sort of cocky arrogance that Steve picked up from Tony on a semi-regular basis but this man clearly knew exactly what he did and didn’t know, what he could and couldn’t do to a high degree of accuracy. 

Steve had forgotten just how attractive of a quality that sort of self-assuredness could be. Sure didn’t help that the guy was almost painfully pretty either. The picture that had been included in his file, while very catching, certainly hadn’t done him justice.

He pushed to his feet as the man made his way into the room, nudging the door closed behind him. There was something oddly familiar about the surety and confidence in his stride and body language, something that tickled at Steve’s mind.

“Captain,” the man said in a firm but polite greeting. No hesitation, no stumbling over his words like the first interviewee had done. He wasn’t sycophantic which was more of a relief than nearly anything else. “James Barnes, good to meet you.”

Steve automatically accepted the outstretched hand, absently noting the firmness of the grip, and then the familiarity clicked. “You served?”

James head cocked to the side with a charming grin and he nodded once, “Still do, though I stick to the Guard, these days.”

Steve gestured to one of the other chairs and retook his own, frowning slightly. “Your file doesn’t mention your time in Service.”

“No, I don’t suppose it would,” James said wryly, eyeing the folder with amusement. “I imagine that Ms Potts has her reasons for leaving it out. Army, two tours.”

“How did you go from there to Public Relations and working for SI?” Steve asked curiously.

“I actually started here in their Security department while I was still working on my degree,” James answered. “I have the training and skill levels that gave me the step up in the initial interview and I got transferred into the PR department when I got closer to my completion.”

James paused for a moment and tilted his head thoughtfully. “Going into PR, though? It was a spontaneous decision, at first. I didn’t initially go into studying for it with some all-consuming devotion, or anything. It was interesting and I thought I had a good chance of being good at it. And, it turns out that I was right.”

Steve had to admit that he appreciated the honesty in James’s answer. He had asked previous interviewee’s why they went into the field and the answers had just seemed...canned. Fake and practiced. 

“May I ask what’s got you looking for a PR manager?” James asked. “Why do you want someone for this?”

“I don’t,” Steve answered automatically, wincing slightly at the blunt answer. James just looked amused, though, rather than taking offense to what Steve was sure sounded like a quick dismissal. 

“Frankly,” Steve made himself continue. “I’ve been fighting against having a PR team or a PR manager since shortly after they pulled me from the ice. I don’t want to be a puppet or a performing monkey. Been there, done that, and I think the Smithsonion still has the uniform to prove it.” He sighed, “But a couple people have made a point to remind me that if I don’t take this whole PR thing into my own control then there’s other...powers that are all too happy to do it for me.”

“Ah,” James said, tilting his head in agreement or understanding as he tapped his fingers against the conference table. “As far as I’m concerned, a good team and a good manager isn’t going to paint up your public image _for_ you. We’re just there to take what we’ve got to work with and make sure it’s cleaned up enough to not come back and bite you. Coach you more than trying to order you around.”

“Think SHIELD missed the memo on that last part,” Steve said wryly.

“They don’t seem like the type to miss anything that they don’t mean to miss,” James pointed out.

Steve shrugged. “Either way, if I’ve got to go this route, I figured that it was a better idea to avoid trying to go through SHIELD for this.”

“From what Ms Potts briefed me on this morning, whoever you decide is your acting PR manager--whether that’s me, or someone else entirely--will be acting as an in between for you and the team that SHIELD has already put together,” James explained. “I imagine that, you being who you are, it’s unlikely that you’ll be able to keep SHIELD out entirely. As a professional recommendation, I would suggest that you make sure that whoever you choose is capable of standing up to SHIELD and that team. Otherwise they’re going to try to walk all over your choice and you. You’ll end up losing what semblance of control having a non-SHIELD affiliated PR manager is meant to give you.”

Steve nodded, thoughtfully considering the man sitting across from him. “Is that something that you think you’re capable of doing? Standing up to SHIELD?”

That cocky smirk appeared again at the question. “With great pleasure,” James answered.

“Sounds like you’re awfully familiar with SHIELD,” Steve observed.

“Unfortunately, I’m more familiar than I would otherwise care to be,” James admitted, smirk tightening into something closer to a grimace. “Though, I suppose in this case, that would be a good thing.”

“So, say I agree and you get picked up as PR manager and I disagree with one of your recommendations. What happens then?” Steve asked. He was all too aware that there was a very high likelihood that he was going to disagree with James at one point or another. It was just how things worked. James’ answer, Steve thought, would give a good indication on how and if this particular dynamic might work.

“We’d talk it out,” James said with an easy shrug. “There’s nothing wrong with disagreeing. We just figure out the source of the disagreement--is it something in the written script? The potential event itself? What about the whole thing are you hardline against? We go from there and figure out what we can change to make it agreeable, if we need to scrap it and start over or if we need to back out and try again another day.”

“That easy, huh?” Steve asked disbelievingly.

“That easy, pal,” James said with a firm nod. “Whatever we do, it’s basically down to your call. I just clean it up and make it suitable for public consumption, that’s essentially my job description in a nutshell.” He shrugged again. “If you were the type to be out constantly making a mess of yourself, then maybe it would be a little different. But you’re not.”

Steve was admittedly a little surprised at how easy it was for him to take James’s assurance at face value. Something about the man’s casual confidence gave the impression that he wasn’t the type to mince his words, to say one thing while meaning something entirely different. It was refreshing, if Steve was being honest.

He could admit that _just maybe_ this PR thing wouldn’t be quite as unbearable provided he could convince them to have James as his point of contact with the SHIELD team. If nothing else, it would give him the opportunity to get to know the man a little more.

Their meeting ran over but Steve couldn’t bring himself to feel even remotely guilty.


	2. Chapter 2

There was something just slightly off about James Barnes and Steve couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was. It was obvious from the start that the man was a professional. He hadn’t stuttered and stumbled over his words or, as far as Steve could tell, acted as much of an awestruck fanboy--Steve had to thank Clint for introducing him to that particular term--as many of the people Steve interacted with these days tended to do. 

With the few meetings that they had held over the last week or so, James had been overall pleasant to deal with. Polite. Sarcastic and witty when Steve managed to catch him distracted and therefore not locked as firmly behind his professional walls. He had been able to tell almost immediately that James Barnes was exactly the sort of guy that he would want watching his six. 

He supposed that, technically, that was exactly what he had been hired to do, albeit in an entirely different way. 

Even from the start, James seemed to be able to get a decent read on him. Better than most in this century had been able to manage. Though, granted, not many in this century had bothered to try very hard. Either way, James had begun tailoring and weeding through SHIELD’s list right away. Steve knew without a doubt that the public events lists that James handed him just a few minutes ago were severely shortened from whatever SHIELD would have sent. 

He would know considering that Steve had already spent months ignoring those lists.

“I put a couple on there,” James said, nodding at the list as he leaned back into his chair. “The children’s hospital and the school. Tried to steer clear of as many of the politics-related ones as I could get away with dropping. Go through and let me know which ones you're good with and I’ll send out the emails to confirm or not when we’re set.”

“What made you pick the school and hospital?” Steve asked curiously.

James shrugged, “Seemed like it would be more up your alley and those kids could use a little distraction.”

And that was exactly what Steve had just been considering. He had met James just a few weeks ago and only in a very professional capacity. And yet the man seemed to understand exactly what worked and what didn’t. It was a bizarre feeling, being seen and understood in such a way. 

“Go ahead and confirm both of those,” Steve said easily. “Are there any others like that?”

“Not that don’t conflict with some of the others on that schedule,” James shrugged, but there was a slightly knowing smirk twisting his lips.

Steve didn’t hesitate to drop the list back onto James’s desk and nudge it across the surface, “Let’s make it all a little more up my alley then.”

The smirk turned into a grin, interrupted just slightly by low laughter, but James nodded. “Just figured I’d give you some variety on the first draft,” James mused, turning back to his computer. “You do realize that, being who you are, avoiding everything politics is drafting your public image as much as going to rallies and such would, right?”

“You don’t talk about your views and standpoints,” Steve pointed out. 

“Not with you, no,” James conceded. “You’re essentially both a client and my boss. I’ve got my family to hash out my own views and opinions with. But I’m also not in the public eye.”

“Technically,” Steve corrected. “Neither am I. There’s one person in the entire living population of the world that knows anything about who I am or where I stand on any given topic and, from what they tell me, she’s not got a whole lot of time left either.”

“I understand that,” James said carefully. “But these early days? They are critical in setting your stage going forward. This is where you get to let the public know that Steve Rogers is Captain America but Captain America is not Steve Rogers. You have the opportunity right now to use  _ both _ voices to make a difference and figure out exactly what sort of difference you want to make. Support or censure from you is going to do a hell of a lot more, speak a hell of a lot louder and with more weight than most voices.”

“No pressure,” Steve snorted but he could admit that James’ words made sense. And the thought of having his own voice for more than directing movement in the field, that he could actually somehow make a difference was somewhat...disorienting, if he was honest. He frowned thoughtfully and leaned forward in his chair. “What would you suggest?”

James tapped his fingers against his desk, eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “I can pull the details of the various political events that you’ve been invited to attend. Not just the correspondence but a couple pages of background information too. What they’re supporting, the types of initiatives they’ve run, and maybe a few things from their opposition to give you a full picture. You go through and tell me which ones you might be interested in and we’ll go from there.”

“I’ll be choosing?” Steve asked critically.

James blinked in surprise and then smiled, “It’s all your call, pal. I’m not you. I don’t know what’s in that head of yours so how can I tell you what to support politically?”

“Just surprised you’re not trying to assign things,” Steve shrugged.

“Assigning political views?” James snorted. “Not a chance. When you look through the event information that I’ll be sending your way and you have questions? I’ll be happy to give my thoughts, until then, it’s not my business. It’s only my business when you manage to put your foot in your mouth and I gotta help pry it out.”

“And what happens in that case?”

“We work out a way to neutralize the negative impact over whatever you happened to say and keep rolling,” James shrugged. “Move forward from there. Politics is a big nasty beast and no matter how hard we try, how carefully you word what you say, there’s always a very good chance that it’s going to be taken wrong, taken out of context. But for the most part, those things are fixable.”

“How would I go about fixing something like that?” Steve asked curiously.

James just grinned and spread his hands out in front of him, “That’s what you got me for. Whether it’s an impromptu press conference, a political rally, or your words taken from context. It’s my job to have your back and make sure you get through it cleanly.”

“Well,” Steve smirked, “there are worse people to have at my six.”

“I’ve got plenty of training and practice covering sixes, don’t you worry,” James responded, almost cheekily. “Little different now that it’s more figurative than literal.”

“That’d go over well,” Steve snorted. “My PR manager manages my PR from a scope up on that roof over there.”

“Perfect record when looking down a scope, too,” James laughed. “Hey, it’d cut down on any hecklers real quick.”

“I think this is the point where Nat would tell you to stop giving me ideas,” Steve smirked.

“I get the feeling that she’d be right,” James nodded. “So what d’you say? Ready to dive into the awful world of politics?”

“Sure,” Steve shrugged. “Let’s see how many ways I can piss off SHIELD with minimal amounts of effort.”

James rolled his eyes but clicked the print key on his computer, the printer immediately coming to life. 

* * *

There was a lot of information out there about Steve Rogers AKA Captain America. Of course there was, the man was a genuine hero and a scientific marvel. He was lauded in damn near every history book written from the war he had fought and forward. 

After meeting and spending some time with the man on a professional level, everything they had ever said about him was undeniably true. He was well-spoken, mindful, considerate. Far more intelligent than even his biggest supporters gave credit for. From everything Bucky had been able to gather, he was frankly honest and overall a genuinely good man. Good in a way that didn’t quite seem to exist in the world very often anymore. 

There was, however, one thing that all of the history books had failed to mention even in passing.

Steve Rogers was kind of an asshole. A nice asshole, but an asshole nonetheless.

Bucky had had the pleasure of overhearing some of his conversations with Tony Stark. He wasn’t quite sure he could have picked which of the two was the snarkiest snarky bastard once they got going. After the first time caught him by surprise, Bucky had made a point to have all food and drink far, far from him lest his coffee decide it needed to bypass his stomach by way of his nose again. 

The first few times that he had met with Steve to go over his schedule of events--both ones that he had voluntarily sought out and the ones that SHIELD had nudged him toward--Steve had been unfailingly polite. Not quite  _ proper, _ maybe, but definitely polite and professional. 

And then had come the conversation about some god awful political rally that SHIELD had wanted him to attend in full Captain America regalia. He really had his doubts about his SHIELD counterparts, there was no way they were really that willfully ignorant. Bucky had noticed the tightening in the man’s expression and the kneejerk cringe that even Captain America couldn’t seem to contain. Maybe it was because that particular rally had been one of the many events that Bucky had put together information packets about to help Steve decide what he was and wasn’t interested in becoming involved in. Bucky had, apparently, launched the first shot of the change in their dynamics.

“I take it, that’s an absolute yes on that one?” Bucky smirked sarcastically. “I’ll go ahead and send out the confirmation. SHIELD will be so pleased.”

“Yeah, I’ll send you in my place,” Steve shot back. “Or you know, tell them what I actually think.”

“SHIELD will be so very unpleased,” Bucky corrected, smirk still in place.

“Hey, they just want me to show up,” Steve pointed out. “They’ve put no stipulation on what happens once I’m there.”

“You do that and you’ll be stipulated out the ass for every single appearance they send afterward,” Bucky laughed.

“Perfect, let’s do that then,” Steve agreed.

Bucky’s brows shot up, “You want to go and be stipulated out the ass?”

“Sure,” Steve grinned. “They start adding that sort of shit, I’ve got all the more reason to shoot them down each time.”

“Right,” Bucky drawled. “Because you need help rejecting SHIELD’s recommendations.”

“You’d think they’d have gotten the message by now,” Steve shrugged.

“Clearly, you’re not the only stubborn ass on this team,” Bucky quipped.

Steve hummed thoughtfully, “‘Cause I’m sure James Barnes shows up as the perfect picture of docile and compliant.”

“You know it,” Bucky shot back easily.

So yes, Bucky Barnes was perfectly aware of the apparently lesser known fact that Steve Rogers was something of an asshole. 

And therein lay the problem. 

Bucky  _ liked _ that. Entirely, entirely too much. He was SF, even if he hadn’t been in the field in years. That wasn’t exactly the type of thing someone just  _ stopped _ being even when they broke away from it. Asshole was kinda his thing. It really wasn’t remotely fair that a guy like Steve Rogers would have  _ that _ going for him as well. If Bucky hadn’t spent the better part of the last fifteen or more years locking that part of him down as far and as harshly as he could, he was well aware he would have crumbled as quickly as a sandcastle at high tide. 

As it was, it seemed to have greased the seals and hinges of the long-seized hatch to the closet shaped bunker in the back of his mind. Which was...unfortunate. For his sanity, at very least. 

Steve--Bucky had been corrected repeatedly on his use of ‘Captain’,  _ not helping-- _ had told him in no uncertain terms that he wasn’t going to deal with SHIELD or their manipulations. And that Bucky could do that, if he thought their inclusion necessary. Bucky was a professional. He put his head in the game and did his job--all of his jobs--to the best of his ability and he was confident enough in his abilities to be able to say that he did it well.

Dealing with SHIELD though? It didn’t take him long to figure out why Captain Rogers-- _ Steve-- _ chose to avoid them. Except that the man didn’t  _ avoid  _ them. He actively  _ baited _ them. If word came down the pipeline that the SHIELD PR team wanted him to do one thing, it was inevitable that Steve Rogers was going to do what he wanted anyway--which, for the record, was generally the exact opposite of what the SHIELD team had suggested.

Did he mention that the guy was a bit of an asshole?

He had to admit that it would be highly entertaining were it not for the simple fact that it inevitably came down to Bucky to try to explain the shitshow. Or that it made his job twice as difficult trying to wrangle Rogers into some sense of compliance  _ and _ deal with SHIELD breathing down his neck at every turn. 

He was beginning to get the feeling that it was exactly why Pepper Potts had recommended him. 

Bucky could admit that he had gone into the initial interview with his eyes on the prize: that career-defining position. And, admittedly, more than a little curiosity about the man himself. But the longer he had the opportunity to interact with Steve Rogers, Bucky’s personal and professional agendas quickly realigned. Steve was smart and kind and an asshole, yes. But the man so very obviously needed someone at his back looking out for him, no matter how much he had initially protested the need for the position. 

And maybe, just maybe, it was still highly entertaining to watch SHIELD chase their tail trying to wrangle Captain America with no real consequences to be able to dole out. Like one of those itty-bitty pocket sized dogs, yapping and yapping but ultimately entirely unthreatening. He was fairly certain that it was a feeling that an agency like SHIELD was entirely unaccustomed to experiencing. 

Bucky hadn’t realized how intensely satisfying that would be to witness.

* * *

“Your hours are almost as awful as mine,” Steve commented as he stood in the doorway to James’ assigned office, two to-go coffee cups in his hands. 

“Perks of the job,” James answered almost absently without looking away from the computer screen. “Or  _ jobs, _ for that matter.”

Steve pushed off the door frame and into the office, approaching the desk and carefully setting James’ coffee onto the desktop, mindful to keep it out of the range where it might be accidentally knocked over. He took a half step back to drop easily into one of the chairs positioned at an angle in front of James’ desk and took a slow drink of his own coffee. 

“Your wife doesn’t mind?” And yes, Steve is well aware that he’s fishing for information that he really ought to just leave be.

But when had Steve ever done something just because he  _ ought _ to?

James snorted a quiet laugh as though it was some exceedingly bizarre question to even be considered and shook his head. “No wife or even a girlfriend to bother caring, so no.” 

He still hadn’t bothered to look up from whatever he happened to be working on at the moment, but maybe that was for the best. Steve could take the opportunity to observe the man without some suddenly-urgent-email would need to be sent or a call that needed to be made interrupting the chance. In fact, anytime that James realized that Steve’s attention was even slightly lingering, Steve was able to see the red flush climb up the back of his neck over his shirt collar and James would lose almost all semblance of cockiness. Stuttering out one excuse or another before making a very quick departure.

The thing was, while obviously a little discomfited by the attention given, Steve wasn’t blind to the way James’ own attention seemed to linger on him. Seemingly without the other man realizing that he was even doing it or only realize it belatedly. Steve had to admit that there was something incredibly satisfying about watching this self-assured -- sometimes to the point of cocky -- tough guy fluster and trip over his own tongue. All because Steve was looking at him?

“So the guys that SHIELD assigned to the team,” James said, drawing Steve from his thoughts. He turned from his computer at last and immediately caught sight of the coffee, his expression lighting up almost boyishly in response. “Oh, coffee. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Steve responded, unable to force down the smile. He tilted his head in question, knowing that his tone shifted to sound far more dismissive than previously, “What about them?”

“They wanted me to discuss something with you,” James began with a surprising amount of delicacy to the words. One thing that Steve had come to like about James was that he was generally pretty direct when they got down to business, the odd way of breaching the topic now was unsettling. “Pretty sure I already know that you’re not gonna go for it, but it keeps ‘em off of both our backs if I at least get it out there.”

“Just the way you’re toeing around it tells me I’m not gonna like it,” Steve said, sitting further upright in his chair to give James his attention. “What’s it that SHIELD wants from me now?”

“It’s more of what they don’t want,” James muttered under his breath but Steve heard it anyway, brow arching curiously. James sighed and met his eyes evenly. “Look, Steve, we both know what next week is so I’m not going to sugar coat it. The PR reps from SHIELD have ‘requested’ that you sit this one out.”

Steve tilted his head to the side consideringly until the words finally registered. Then he frowned and leaned back into his chair in an almost forced-casual way. He let himself linger for a very brief moment on the way that James had phrased it. That they both knew what next week was. Interesting. “They want me to avoid Pride? Why?”

“They think it’s a bad idea for Cap’s image,” James said with a shrug that wasn’t as dismissive as he probably hoped for it to be.

“And what’s my liaison to the SHIELD PR team think of the request?” Steve asked curiously.

James was quiet for a long moment, using the opportunity to take a long drink of the coffee Steve had brought. When he lowered it back to his desk, he licked his lips thoughtfully and then sunk back into his chair. “I think that--well, I think two things,” he said with a small smirk. “First, I think that you’re gonna be showing up for Pride no matter what any of us say if that’s really what you’ve got it in your head to do.”

Steve tilted his head, conceding the point and the smirk James wore turned into a smile with a huffed laugh. “And the second?” he prompted.

“It’s 2013,” James said pointedly. “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell was repealed two and a half years ago and went into effect in September 2011. There’s no grounds for any sort of disciplinary action that the Army or SHIELD can really do--and that’s even if they actually had the balls to try to bring up Captain America for disciplinary action to begin with.” 

He shrugged again and crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes going a bit distant in the way Steve had begun to notice happened when faced with a challenging strategy. He wasn’t entirely convinced that James’s awareness of Pride could be solely attributed to it being his job to be informed but he didn’t press for the moment.

“There  _ is _ going to be some sort of fallout, however. Whether you go or you don’t go. It’s just the matter of how public opinion works.” James’ attention sharpened back onto Steve again, “That being said, if you’re set on going, we can do what we can to minimize some of the negative backlash.”

“You could just come with me,” Steve smirked. “Make sure I stay outta trouble.”

“Sorry, pal, not happening,” James said crisply, his body language losing the easygoing, relaxed quality from just moments before. Steve watched as he snatched his cup off of the desk and took a deep drink from it, eyes slightly distant again. Steve had expected the irritation or annoyance, both of which undoubtedly laced his tone, but the heavy sense of resignation was hard to miss. 

“Have you ever been?” Steve asked.

“Nope.”

“Maybe next year then,” Steve said, conceding the conversation for the time being. Before James could interject some form of protest, Steve brought them back onto topic. “What sort of things would minimize the backlash? Other than a disguise and keeping my mouth shut? ‘Cause I’m sure that me following either of those instructions is as likely as you showing up with me.”

That earned another small laugh and James shook his head. “That’s what SHIELD would highly recommend, I’m sure. But I like to think myself a little more realistic than that.” He paused a moment to gather his thoughts, relaxing back into his seat now that the conversation was on somewhat safer grounds. “It’s not necessarily keeping your mouth shut so much as it taking the time to think about what you’re gonna say. People these days, you say something,  _ anything, _ and they’re going to spend the next month--at a minimum--dissecting it. You being you, whatever you do or don’t say is probably going to be featured for better or worse for the next couple of years.”

“You do that?” Steve questioned. “Dissect everything people say for angles?”

“Pal, it’s my  _ job _ to dissect what you’re wanting to say and try to see it from every possible angle that it could potentially be twisted into,” James said with the self-assured smirk that Steve recognized from their first meetings. He felt the nearly overwhelming urge to say something to twist it back into the blushing and stuttering. “And I’m good at my job.”

Steve studied him for a moment and then tilted his head challengingly, “Show me.”

“Show you what?” James frowned, brows furrowed in evident confusion.

“We’ve talked a good coupla times now. Twist my words,” Steve insisted.

James’s head cocked to the side, expression turning slightly surprised and then entirely amused. He settled back into his chair, arms crossed in front of him as he maintained eye contact with seemingly no problem. Steve immediately knew that he wasn’t the first person to question or challenge James’ capabilities. It was clearly something that the man was more than accustomed to.

“You sure you’re brave enough for that?” James challenged, smirk firmly planted on his expression. “I’ve been around plenty long enough to understand the way the media works.”

“Do your worst,” Steve said, palms spread wide in invitation. 

“Suit yourself,” Bucky smirked. The smirk quickly faded into something more critically serious. “First thing? Based on the little show you put on for the SHIELD side of this team makes it crystal clear that you’re an entitled, elitist asshole who somehow thinks that he’s above the rules and above the chain of command. Rules and safety guidelines are for everyone else, not for Steve Rogers. You don’t have any thought or consideration for those caught up in the fallout. What do you think that means for on-the-field? That’s what they’re going to be asking themselves. Who’s going to be caught up in  _ that  _ fallout and who’s going to have to pay for it, in the end?”

“Now,” Bucky said with a quick grin. “On the flipside of that, those that are your supporters, loudest cheerleaders and all that? You’ve got a strong sense of right and wrong and when something’s wrong, you’re in the first in line to fix it. Since SHIELD recovered you, there’s countless instances of you going above and beyond what might be expected of you. And almost all of it at the ground level. The schools and the Children’s Ward at the hospital. Being seen in the base level efforts in the aftermath of the Invasion and on a regular basis since then. It’s clear that you don’t need to be babysat when you’ve more than proven yourself.”

Bucky shrugged. “It’ll run the full gamut. You’ll have the unhappy, hypercritical analytics that will twist and turn everything you say or do into a negative light. Because that’s what they do. And then you’ll have the ones that tout the loudest that Steve Rogers can do no wrong. And everything in between.”

“Entitled, elitist asshole, huh?” Steve repeated curiously, unable to hide his smirk.

“Someone who chooses not to play nice with their team and goes out of their way to make their team’s job that much harder just because you know that you can? Could definitely be seen that way by some,” Bucky shrugged.

“They’re not my team,” Steve corrected.

“But they are,” Bucky countered firmly. “You don’t have to like them and, because it’s part of the job you chose me to perform in your place, you don’t have to even deal with them yourself. But from legal and public standpoints, they are your contracted Public Relations team, just the same as I am. Were you to make that kind of statement, right there, out in public or in an official capacity of any sort and they were to quote you? Those hypercritical naysayers are going to be all over it and you, without an ounce of hesitation.”

Steve sat back and considered the perspective. As much as he hated to admit it, that made sense. He sighed and then chuckled. “I take your point. I’ll save all my SHIELD-team criticism for your ears only.”

“Outstanding,” Bucky snarked sarcastically but Steve could see the genuine amusement there as well. 


	3. Chapter 3

Steve was quiet. Not the usual quiet either. The usual being where he would sit in that chair silently watching Bucky work. While knowing that Steve was sitting right there  _ watching him  _ was unsettling more often than not, if only because of how exposed it tended to leave him feeling, Bucky found that he almost preferred that. The silent watching over this, strange subdued quiet. 

Bucky considered his options. Really, whatever was going on with Steve wasn’t his business. He had no rights to it. But...they had been building something of a friendship, hadn’t they? He knew that he would ask, pry even, with any of his other friends. Dig in and try to figure out what the problem was. Try to see if there was anything he might be able to do to help. 

But Steve seemed as reserved as he was open and honest. Bucky frowned and swallowed a bit nervously. He didn’t look away from the document that he had been working on, pulled up on his computer screen. “Everything okay, Steve?” he asked in an intentionally casual tone.

“Yeah,” Steve answered, voice equally as quiet and subdued as his presence had been since he walked into Bucky’s office and dropped into his usual chair.

Bucky tapped his fingertips against the keys of his keyboard in consideration. After a beat, he turned his chair away from the computer to face Steve fully. “That wasn’t all that convincing, pal,” he said evenly.

Steve quirked a small smile and shrugged, “Just one of those days, is all. You know how that goes.”

“Yeah,” Bucky mused, tilting his head in a sideways bob of acknowledgement. “I know how those go. Anything in particular getting to you?” Steve stayed silent, eyeing him speculatively and Bucky continued. “Like you said, I know how these things go. Got a perfectly good set of ears on me too, if you want to make use of them.”

Steve visibly hesitated, chewing almost anxiously on the corner of his bottom lip. Then he sighed and gave another small shrug. “Bad night,” he admitted shortly.

“Ah,” Bucky winced sympathetically. Yeah, he was familiar with those, too. “I don’t suspect that you’ve got any shortage of night terror material. War itself is enough all in itself, let alone everything else.”

“Yeah, definitely no shortage,” Steve agreed wryly. “Even better when my head decides it's a good idea to mix it all together in one shot.”

“Ouch,” Bucky said. He paused consideringly. “Have you found a routine that helps?”

“Helps how?” Steve asked with a confused frown.

Bucky shrugged, leaning forward with his forearms against the desktop. “When I came back home after my second deployment, I was,” he winced and shook his head, “well, I think saying that I was a mess is putting it lightly. Still got my days, weeks even, where I hit those patches but establishing something of a routine and giving myself that control definitely went a long way in helping me balance out a bit, you know?”

Steve studied him curiously for a long moment. “I can’t say I’ve got too much of that,” he admitted finally. “Believe it or not, I’m still finding my feet on a lot of this shit.”

“I’d honestly be a little surprised if you weren’t,” Bucky shrugged. “I’m no psychologist but it’s pretty obvious to me that you’re dealing with a shit hand and working pretty damn well with it. Working well doesn’t mean not struggling though. I know that all too well.”

“Most days,” Steve paused and frowned before continuing. “Most days I’ve got a pretty good handle. Or at least, I can manage. Other days…”

“Other days, getting out of bed and acting like a functioning human being is harder than it seems like it should be,” Bucky finished with a wry, commiserating smile. 

“Exactly,” Steve agreed with a sigh.

Bucky studied him for a moment before rolling his chair back a few inches and leaning down to dig through his bottom desk drawer. He located and pulled the plain legal pad of paper from the drawer and pushed it closed again and pulled a ballpoint pen from the cup next to his computer and passed both across the desk to Steve.

“What’s this for?” Steve frowned, accepting the pen and paper with a puzzled frown.

“You’ve shown up here a couple times, lead and charcoal smudged all over the side of your hand,” Bucky shrugged, feeling a little off-foot and awkward. “And I can remember reading about you and something about art school at some point. Not hard to combine the two and figure out that you draw. So, figured it might help a little to get out of your head. Have something else to occupy your mind. It’s not a proper sketchbook or anything, but it’ll do the job.”

Steve’s brows shot up high in surprise and he stared at the bright yellow notepad for a long moment before looking back up at Bucky. His expression shifted, the surprise fading into what Bucky hoped was a genuine, if small, smile. “Thanks James,” he said softly.

“Anytime, Steve,” Bucky said, returning the smile with one of his own. He watched Steve stare thoughtfully at the yellow pad for a long moment before making himself return to his work.

Steve left sometime later. Bucky had vaguely heard him set the notepad on the desk and get up from his chair but was immersed enough in his work that he didn’t look up. When Bucky finally managed to pull his attention back to the present, the chair across from him was empty. The legal pad sat on his desk right next to his elbow with the pen set on top. But what actually caught his attention and drew him up short was the inked sketch of himself staring back at him from the page and the ‘Thank you’ jotted across the bottom corner.

Bucky huffed a small laugh and carefully tucked the notepad away until the next time it was wanted or needed.

* * *

“Barnes.”

“That’s me,” Bucky drawled, forcing down the resigned sigh at the familiar voice. He shoved his hands into pockets and turned to face the speaker with an expectant smirk at the ready.

“Pass this along to Captain Rogers when you get back,” Gerald Culter, the primary lackey for the SHIELD side of the PR team, said curtly, passing him a folder. “And make sure he’s prepped on what to and not to say before he goes.”

Bucky accepted the file and flipped it open, scanning the contents curiously. It was a schedule of events, presumably that SHIELD was expecting Steve to attend. Once he got to the end of the list, Bucky shot a sardonic glance at the man, brows arched and smirk locked firmly in place. He fished his good pen out of his shirt pocket and immediately set to scratching lines through nearly half of the events on the list. 

“That’s an official list,” the man protested. Bucky ignored him and continued onto the second page.

One benefit to Steve’s insistence at hanging around his office seemingly more days than not, was that Bucky had had plenty of opportunity to get to know the man. Which, among other things, made his job much easier. He knew without a sliver of a doubt that the majority of the events he had crossed off of SHIELD’s list were ones that Steve would flat out refuse to attend--probably far less politely than a single line through the words on a piece of paper. Or they conflicted with things that had already been on the schedule. Steve Rogers could do a hell of a lot but even he couldn’t be in two places at once.

And what kind of idiot would send Steve Rogers to a political rally that he didn’t want to go to let alone support and expect him to stick to his cue cards? It almost seemed like these assholes were  _ trying _ to set the man up for a PR disaster.

That thought drew him to a pause. He immediately knew that he needed to go back through the past few months of his careful documentation of correspondence with the SHIELD side of the PR team. It wasn’t sitting quite right now that he thought about it. Until then, he just needed to get through the current shitshow. He made a show of taking the time to recap his pen and tuck it back into his shirt pocket before closing the folder, handing it back by way of swatting it against the man’s chest and letting it stay until Culter accepted it back with a scowl. 

Bucky smirked, brows raised expectantly. “Fix that mess and I’ll be happy to add it to the schedule.”

“It was already fixed,” Culter glared. “As in it was a fixed schedule.”

“Not your call to make, pal,” Bucky countered with a dismissive shrug. He had far too much experience with power plays to fall into one that blatantly obvious. 

“Now you listen here,” he scowled, stepping forward into Bucky’s space in what was probably meant to be intimidating. Bucky settled his weight evenly, subtly prepared in the unlikely event that the man attempted to react physically. He cocked his head in challenge and unruffled amusement. “This is the list of events that SHIELD expects Captain Rogers to attend and he will be there and  _ you _ will make sure of it. Do your damned job or find a new one.”

Bucky let himself smile, licking his lips contemplatively. “You do realize that I don’t work for SHIELD, right? In fact, I’m fairly certain that I’m directly employed by Stark Industries and Captain Rogers. Both of whom are quite satisfied with how I do my damn job so I would suggest that you worry more about your own job and fix that embarrassment like I told you to.” His smile dropped and he turned away, keeping his pace intentionally casual and unbothered as he called over his shoulder with a small wave, “Nice chat.”

* * *

“I went to visit Peggy yesterday,” Steve said suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence that had descended as they worked through their respective lunches.

“Oh?” Bucky said, blinking slightly in surprise. He knew some about the wartime relationship that had brewed between Steve and Peggy Carter, just like everyone else who had ever cracked open a history book at some point in their lives. But Steve had only passingly referenced her before and never in a way that seemed to so blatantly invite questions. Not that Bucky could blame him for wanting to keep some of those things to himself.

“Yeah,” Steve sighed. “She’s in DC at a home. Alzheimers, is what they tell me.”

“I’m sorry, Steve. That’s...that’s awful.” Bucky carefully set his sandwich down onto the paper wrapping that it had come in and sat back in his chair. He felt like, whatever Steve’s reasons for bringing it up, the conversation deserved his full attention. 

Steve shrugged in an almost dismissive way, as though it wasn’t really that big of a deal despite his expression clearly saying otherwise. “She lived a long life, a happy one the best I can tell,” he said finally. 

Bucky couldn’t help but feel like the words sounded rehearsed. He wondered how long Steve had been repeating those words to himself. “How did the visit go?” he asked hesitantly.

“It went well,” Steve said with a slightly pained smile. “We talked for a while. Some things from back then, reminiscing a bit, I guess. Mostly about her life though and things for me here in this Century. It was nice.” 

“But?” Bucky prompted.

“No, no buts. It  _ was _ nice,” Steve shook his head and then grimaced. “I had to leave because she had a lapse and me suddenly being there and alive was only making it worse for her. That. That part wasn’t. It wasn’t so nice.”

“No, I’d imagine that part hurt something awful,” Bucky said softly. 

Steve nodded almost absently, brows furrowed in thought. He opened his mouth to say something more and then closed it again, expression twisting into something more despondent. “It got me thinkin’ though,” he finally said, words hesitant. “And it hit me that...she’s it.”

“How do you mean?” Bucky asked gently.

“She’s the last one,” Steve explained. “There’s no one else still around, still  _ alive _ that knew anything about me from before. When she--When she’s gone…”

Bucky ached for him at the beginning of the short tale. It broke for him then. He swallowed thickly around the lump that seemed wedged in his throat. Before he could think better of it he spoke hesitantly. “Steve?” He urged quietly, pausing until Steve looked back up from where he had been staring at his hands. “Can I hug you?”

Steve blinked in surprise, eyes going wide for a split second before giving a slow nod in agreement. Bucky pushed his chair back and quickly rounded his desk, Steve’s eyes tracking him the whole route. Crouching next to Steve’s chair, Bucky didn’t bother wasting time and effort with the half-hearted, one-armed hugs that somehow seemed to be expected between men. His arms settled easily over Steve’s shoulders and he tugged gently until Steve leaned into him, Steve’s arms wrapping snugly around the middle of Bucky’s back.

Bucky could admit that, initially at least, it was stiff and awkward, neither of them seemingly knowing quite what to do now that they were there. But then Steve’s arms tightened, his head falling forward to all but bury his face in Bucky’s neck with a sigh. Bucky responded automatically, shifting forward until both knees rested on the floor instead of the crouch and he tightened his own hold. 

He didn’t offer empty reassurances or platitudes. What good would that do? It  _ would _ be okay, somehow some way, but that didn’t make it less raw or painful. Bucky was the last one to attempt to dismiss or trivialize what Steve was feeling. He just held on tight, content to do exactly that for as long as Steve wanted or until the floor got the better of his knees, whichever happened to come first.

“Thank you,” Steve said quietly, tightening the embrace momentarily before pulling back entirely.

Bucky gave a small smile, forcing down the groan as he pushed back to his feet. He rested his hand on Steve’s shoulder and gave a soft squeeze. “Anytime, Steve.”

* * *

Bucky shook his head absently to bring wandering thoughts back into focus as he pushed into his office, only to freeze immediately at the threshold, long honed instinct warning him that he wasn’t alone. He scanned the room rapidly until he found the slight woman curled in what looked to be a painfully contorted pretzel form in the chair behind his desk, idly scanning through a plain manilla file folder folded open against her thigh. His chair. 

Bucky stepped easily into the readiness that a guy like him never really lost. He kept his body language as neutral as he was able and approached his desk and dropped into one of the visitors chairs. He didn’t slouch--he wasn’t and couldn’t pretend to be  _ that  _ at ease--but he did settle comfortably into the chair, slightly sprawled but still capable of being on his feet in an instant. 

Not that he thought that would mean a whole hell of a lot all things considering, his training be damned.

“Ms. Natasha Romanov. To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked with a slightly forced smirk.

“James Buchanan Barnes. Graduated in 2000. In the top ten of your class. Plenty of athletics. Enlisted in the Army with an Option 40 straight out of high school,” she read off, almost idly. “Airborne. Assault. Home to visit the family in ‘01. Volunteered for search and rescue immediately following 9/11 until you were pulled for 53 weeks of training. Back to back deployments.”

For the first time during her spiel, she met his eyes. “Korangai Valley, 2005. You were there.”

“I was,” Bucky agreed carefully, fighting against his body’s urge to tense against the unwelcome memory. But then again, the Black Widow didn’t generally stop in for friendly visits. 

“And then you left,” she said consideringly. “Transitioned from active duty to New York National Guard. Applied and was accepted into Columbia University’s Public Relations program. Combined Bachelors and Masters in five years. Hired by Stark Industries for Security in the first year and Public Relations in the third year. Officer Candidate package submitted in 2009--.”

“You’ve got access to my lifetime personnel record,” Bucky interrupted. “Considering SHIELD is what it is, I’m not exactly surprised.”

Romanov hummed thoughtfully, presumably studying his file intently. “You stayed nondeployable. Why?”

“It was wrong,” Bucky answered, admittedly somewhat shakily. “If you know about that Op, then you know the shit that went down and I’m not gonna go into detail even if you don’t, Black Widow or no. I wasn’t gonna be sent back into that with no ability to control the outcome. I can do more good here than the bad they’d expect me to do there.”

“You were activated during the invasion,” she stated. Not a question. ‘Just’ a statement.

“I was,” Bucky repeated.

“They didn’t put you on holding the line,” she said leadingly.

“They’d have been stupid to put someone like me on gate gaurd,” Bucky shrugged.

“I didn’t think the Army made a habit of putting their officers on rooftops or frontlines.”

“Thinkin’ they made a bad call?”

“Were you following orders?” she countered.

“To an extent.”

“How so?”

Bucky hesitated for a moment. Feeding information to a person like Natasha Romanov always ran the risk of digging your own grave. He weighed his options and sighed, sinking back more fully into his seat as he considered his words. 

“This is home,” he said slowly. “Back when 9/11 happened, there was nothing I could do but gear up and volunteer to help with recovery efforts. I can’t even say that it was obligatory as much as it was a responsibility.” He paused a moment and then shrugged. “When those things came through that hole in the sky, it was the same thing and it took the Guard longer than was acceptable to respond. I was already in position when the call came through. They wanted me in a booth. Headsets and directing movements. Prolly should’ve done that, maybe. I got my formal orders, but I wouldn’t’ve needed them. I see that kind of wrong happening and it’s against the grain to not step in and do what I can. And as it happened, I did a lot more good where I was than I could have stuck in some mobile control center.”

He huffed a small laugh, “Should have known how much paperwork would have been involved when the base word of ‘officer’ happens to be ‘office’ but I’ve never really been the sort to sit back and let things happen.”

“SHIELD has been keeping an eye on you long before you stepped up to this job, you know,” she said thoughtfully.

“I can’t imagine why,” Bucky frowned. “Not got a whole lot about me that’d be interesting to an agency like that.”

“I don’t know about that,” Natasha shrugged. “SHIELD has a good eye for resources that may or may not be of value. My understanding is that they weren’t exactly pleased when SI picked you up.”

“I’m sure SHIELD has all sorts of reluctance at potentially poaching,” Bucky snorted.

“Not usually, no,” she smirked. “But I’m sure you’ve managed to pick up on their rocky relationship with Stark.”

“That’s on them for assuming the man would conform just because they said so,” Bucky pointed out. 

“You did,” she said critically. “And you still are.”

“Maybe,” he shrugged. “But I’m James Barnes, not Tony Stark. And I don’t conform so much that I’m afraid to stand up for myself either.”

“Yet, you still agreed to work for them and SI?” She said leadingly. Bucky could easily read that, while phrased as a question, she didn’t mean it as one.

“I do not work  _ for _ SHIELD even if I do, on occasion, work  _ with _ them,” Bucky corrected firmly. “I work for Stark Industries and I’m contracted with Captain Rogers.”

Natasha observed him critically for a long moment and Bucky met her stare defiantly. She smirked and nodded once. “Good. Make sure you remember that.”

“Who I work for isn’t really the type of thing I’m likely to forget,” he huffed. 

“Pepper made a good call, recommending you,” Natasha smirked, shifting in her --no,  _ his _ \-- chair until she could prop her feet on the edge of his desk. Her smirk only grew when Bucky shot her a slight glare.

“What makes you say that?” He asked curiously. 

“You’re just the right type that Rogers might actually listen to you,” she shrugged. “And you’re also the right type that’s not going to take advantage of that.” The ‘unlike SHIELD’ went unspoken.

“He listens to SHIELD just fine,” Bucky smirked. “The problem is that they seem to think that listening is synonymous with obeying. They seemed to have missed the memo that Steve Rogers isn’t exactly the sort to obey much of anyone or anything unless it coincides with what's in his own head.”

“It’s a control thing,” she said idly.

“For SHIELD or for Steve?”

“Yes,” Natasha smirked.

Bucky laughed and nodded in agreement and understanding. It made far too much sense, after all. He sobered and wavered for a moment before pushing forward with his line of thought. “What do you know about the agents on the team SHIELD put together?”

“Enough,” she answered simply, eyeing him speculatively. “Why do you ask?”

“There’s something not quite right about them,” he admitted. “Can’t quite put my finger on what it is but it’s almost like they’ve got it in for him.”

Natasha was quiet for a long moment, considering him thoughtfully. She dropped her feet back to the floor and pushed out of the chair, making toward the door. “Good thing he’s got you then,” she said, pausing at the threshold. “Might want to keep that in mind when you’re working with them, though.”

And then she was gone. That really hadn’t been very helpful or informative but he supposed that she was right. It was part of his job to act as the in between for the SHIELD team and Steve. To be the one-stop for all sides of managing Steve’s public relations schedule and such. He supposed that he just needed to keep his eyes and ears open around the SHIELD team and mitigate as much of the problems as possible.

He pushed out of the visitor chair and moved to the back side of his desk, dropping into his chair with a sigh. Bucky huffed a laugh when he immediately realized that Natasha had messed with the settings on his chair, because  _ of course _ she did. It took him a few minutes to set it back to rights and settle in to check his email.

He was entirely unsurprised to find more correspondence from several members of the SHIELD team sitting unread in his inbox, intermixed with emails from his unit--both his old one and his current--and from various coworkers SI. Oh, and one from his sister. Because apparently texting his phone wasn’t enough when she was in one of her demanding moods. Bucky huffed a small laugh, shaking his head in amusement as he opened hers first. 


	4. Chapter 4

Bucky’s desk had been cleared of most folders and hard copy paperwork--all moved to stack somewhat precariously on top of the filing cabinet. Spread out over the desk’s surface in the paper and folders’ usual place were several large containers, small plastic cups and packets of various sauces and condiments, and a pair of to-go cups. 

It had become a habit for either Steve or Bucky to call in or bring lunch on the days where Steve decided to take up residence in the same visitor’s chair opposite Bucky’s desk. Some of the time they would discuss business. Recent or upcoming appearances that had made the list or reviewing various resources to gauge current public opinion. Sometimes they would look at Steve in particular, other times they would spend time picking at the various news articles related to the Avengers as a whole. 

Other days, though, conversation skipped over all of that, broke through the strictly professional boundaries. Those days, it seemed that almost anything was fair game for conversation. Bucky’s family, their respective service history and the challenges they faced when coming home, the unique challenges that Steve was still working through with losing nearly 70 years of the world moving on without him. 

It was surprisingly comfortable, even considering the more personal topics that they touched onto. For whatever reason, it didn’t seem to matter which sort of day it was-- personal or strictly professional--it rarely seemed stilted or awkward. Conversation flowed free and easy with very few exceptions.

This day, however, seemed to be of the latter type. The type where business was set aside for the hour it took for the pair of them to demolish the heaping containers of their takeout lunch. If previous experience was any sort of indication, the openness likely wouldn’t end when the food was gone, rather it would carry on through the day. 

Bucky thought that maybe he wasn’t supposed to like these sort of days as much as he did.

Perhaps it was telling, though, considering his previous conversation with Romanov and the odd, ever growing closeness that seemed to keep him firmly in Steve’s orbit that Bucky found himself telling Steve about that final deployment. The op-gone-bad that pushed him to leave his Special Forces unit and remain non-deployable for as much of his remaining career as absolutely possible. The thing was, when Bucky had told Romanov that he wasn’t and wouldn’t tell her a damn thing about the details of that mission, he wasn’t just being difficult.

“It was a fucking disaster from start to finish,” Bucky admitted bitterly.

“Can I ask what happened?” Steve asked gently

Bucky didn’t talk about it. He kept that nightmare in his own head and refused to put that burden of knowledge on anyone else. It was hard enough to think about most days--not that his mind seemed to have any qualms about reminding him any time it got too quiet for too long--let alone actually put into words. 

But that day, styrofoam containers strewn across the surface of his desk and Steve’s patiently attentive ear, Bucky found himself talking about it for the first time. It helped, he supposed, that Steve had already confided some of the not-so-pleasant aspects of his own bloody war but once Bucky started speaking, the entire op came out. 

“It was a mess, Steve. It was--It was bad,” Bucky explained haltingly, pushing his container of food away abruptly, appetite long gone. Bucky hadn’t exactly been a novice to the types of violence that existed in wartime. He had been on enough Ops to have grown intimately aware of it. That one had been something else entirely.

“Who was running the mission?” Steve pressed, tone cautious.

“Joint with the Army, SHIELD, and CIA,” Bucky frowned. “We were assigned for cover support. Rumlow took point with Rollins as his second once we were boots-on-ground though.”

“Rumlow and Rollins?” Steve repeated, tone carefully neutral.

“Those were the SHIELD agents, yes,” Bucky nodded. “We had two guys from the CIA, too and then our team. Six of us, so a ten-man team total.”

“They put you in a nest?”

Bucky nodded again, carefully avoiding Steve’s eye as he continued. “That was my job and I was damn good at it. I set up about a half-mile out, clear sight though even without a spotter. I was supposed to maintain radio silence unless my position was made. But--” Bucky grimaced. 

“What happened, James?” Steve pressed gently. 

Bucky felt his stomach turn and tasted bitter bile as he confided the unnecessary--and, almost worse in his opinion: off-the-books--brutality that he had witnessed and played an unwilling party to. The palpable threat and hostility from the various agents that he and some members of his team had received when they voiced their protests. The disgust and horror that he had felt. The bitter knowledge that there wasn’t a whole lot that he was in the position to do to stop it from happening.

Bucky scowled bitterly. “I’ve seen a lot of shit through the scope lense that I’ll never be able to forget but that was--that was something else. It was so far past fucked up that I don’t even have proper  _ words _ to explain it. Then that sack of shit tried ordering me to take the shot.”

“Did you?”

Bucky felt himself smirk even if it was more than a little twisted, “Not the way he wanted me to. Two inches left of his right foot.”

Steve snorted in amusement, “I’m sure Rumlow had plenty to say about that.”

“Oh he tried,” Bucky agreed. “Until he was reminded that I don’t fucking miss when I set my aim.” Bucky sobered and shook his head, “That’s when the whole thing went from bad to worse, though. I broke radio silence trying to call them off, my guys on-site spoke up too, like I said.” He huffed a bitter laugh, “It was an entirely off-books OP, did you know that? No documentation of it at all except  _ maybe  _ in some highly encrypted files at SHIELD and the CIA. Sometimes I wonder if I shouldn’t have just aimed that warning shot a few feet higher. Gone for the killshot. I had him in my crosshairs. I  _ had him.” _

“Why didn’t you?” Steve asked, though he wasn’t accusatory, just a gently asked, curious question.

“I wish I knew,” Bucky sighed. “I mean, maybe being in a known hostile environment made shooting at our own team taste wrong no matter how fucked up they were. Not to mention that there was no telling what sort of retribution would be coming down the line. Even on a mission that had no documentation, things like that would have gotten noticed and my team was in close quarters. Intentionally botching a fucked up operation, disobeying direct orders, and killing a federal agent? Forget due justice, I’d have never seen the light of day again. And that’s even if I was lucky enough to have made it out of the Valley and not been left to rot in the sand.”

“But that,” Bucky frowned, bringing the conversation back around. “That was it. That was my final straw. I couldn’t do that sort of shit anymore. I can’t be involved with it, especially when I’ve got absolutely no chance of being able to stop it from happening.”

He rubbed a hand over his face tiredly and stared at the food container again before raising his eyes to meet Steve’s more steadily than he’s been able to achieve up until that point. “There’s a lot of things I could have pushed through. Held out and held on. Kept my head down and bid my time. I was rising up those ranks quick and...just about anything else, I could have grit my teeth and dealt with it. But that? 

No, I was done,” Bucky grimaced. “I didn’t have any faith left. Rode out the last of the deployment and came home a mess. Now here I am.”

Bucky knew himself well enough that he could and would have pushed through his own discomfort and held out for a lot of things. Bided his time until he was high enough on the ladder to actually make changes, however small. But not that. If only because Bucky had known that he was still early enough in his career that it was unlikely that it would be the last of that sort of mission he would be expected to run. 

Suit up, shut up, do your job. 

Bucky had known in that moment that he would never be able to truly wash his hands clean. Not only that operation either. The sourness that the joint op had left in his gut threw his entire record into question. Had him questioning every time he had stared down his scope and pulled the trigger. Every time he had been congratulated on his spotless record was suddenly doused with question and suspicion. After all, there was no way of telling who had actually been directing those orders. No way to know if the same people who had condoned the actions of the Agents attached to their unit were the same ones that had pointed Bucky at his targets.

They sat in a heavy silence for several long moments after the story reached the natural conclusion. Bucky busied himself with closing the lids and stacking them off to the side. He felt raw and exposed in a way that he very rarely did and it wasn’t a feeling that he particularly enjoyed. Even if there was a large part of him that seemed to realize that if he had to feel the vulnerability around anyone, Steve was probably the safest.

Bucky froze for a moment at the unsettling thought and stared blankly at the stiff styrofoam container in his hands. He swallowed thickly as a fission of anxiety bolted through him. He darted a brief glance at Steve who was staring distantly, brows furrowed in thought, and then back to the stack of containers before quickly arranging the food back into the to-go back that they had come in. 

Why had he even thought it was a good idea to share that with Steve? He didn’t talk about that op. Period. Did not do it. There were enough people on that mission that Bucky wouldn’t be surprised if some of the details were more-or-less an open secret, at least among SHIELD and the other alphabet agencies involved. He knew that the majority of his small unit seemed to be of the same mindset that Bucky held and kept it under lock and key. Not for the first time, though, Bucky wondered if his own shame and disgust wasn’t just allowing these things to keep happening. It was just another piece of the whole haunting situation that had always left Bucky in a deep sense of self-loathing at his own cowardice hiding behind self-preservation.

Steve nodded absently and then huffed a small, humorless laugh. “You know, I want to say that I’m surprised that SHIELD runs those kinds of Ops but I’m really not.”

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed. “Kinda makes you wonder if Stark’s not onto something with steering clear of their methods, doesn’t it?”

“It really does,” Steve agreed wryly. 

“Well, that was a--uh-- _ cheerful _ lunch conversation,” Bucky said glumly.

“I don’t mind,” Steve shrugged. “James--”

“Bucky,” Bucky interjected, suddenly realizing that his given name sounded odd coming from Steve.

“Bucky?” Steve repeated, confusion evident.

Bucky felt heat crawling up the back of his neck and over his ears as he shrugged one shoulder somewhat awkwardly. “It’s what friends and family call me. I’m really only ‘James’ in a professional capacity.”

“How do you get Bucky from James?” Steve asked with a small laugh.

“It’s not from James, it’s from Buchanan, my middle name,” Bucky smirked, or at least he attempted to. It was a difficult expression to manage with as rough as he felt just then. “James tends to be a popular name. I think I had a minimum of three in every class with me from kindergarten up. My sister had problems with pronouncing ‘Buchanan’ so I became Bucky. It’s stuck.”

Steve’s expression softened and he smiled easily. “Okay then,  _ Bucky, _ you oughta know that I don’t mind the heavier conversations either. I like that you’re comfortable enough to share the harder things.”

“Thanks,” Bucky said quietly after a moment. “I don’t actually know why I told you all of that.”

But that wasn’t entirely the truth either, Bucky realized even as he spoke the words. Despite technically being both a client and his boss, he and Steve had grown closer over the preceding months. Their dynamics had shifted, losing the hard edge of pure professionalism. As that edge had softened and faded, the foundations of a solid friendship seemed to have evolved. And yet, the foundation was charged with  _ something _ that Bucky wasn’t sure he could name. Something that hadn’t existed before in other friendship dynamics that he had experienced previously.

He both liked and disliked that unknown addition. The unfamiliarity of it and the way it seemed to keep drawing him in until all he could seem to want was  _ more.  _ More conversations. More lighthearted teasing and laughs and smiles. More lunches strewn across his desk and coffees suddenly appearing beside him. More hugs when Steve felt like he needed one. More. To the point where he had  _ literally _ just shared a story that he swore he would take to his grave. Frankly, it terrified him more than he wanted to admit. Unfamiliar meant that he didn’t know the rules or what he was and wasn’t supposed to do. He couldn’t rely solely on experience to know what came next. He was going in blind.

Maybe after his upcoming drill weekend, he ought to make a point to spend some time with Becca. More than anyone, she was well-versed in helping get Bucky out of his head and thinking clearly again. Bucky made a mental note to give her a call later that evening.

He was drawn out of his thoughts by Steve’s phone shrieking loudly from where it sat on Bucky’s desk. Steve quickly snatched up the device and his expression tightened. He glanced up to meet Bucky’s eye and gave a wry smile, “Looks like duty calls.”

Bucky nodded in understanding, swallowing thickly as Steve quickly made for the door. “Be safe.”

Steve paused at the doorway and glanced back with a nod, “I’ll do my best.”

“Right,” Bucky said, drawing the word out with sarcasm. Steve just grinned and shot Bucky a wink that drew heat to his ears and bolted the rest of the way out of the office.

* * *

Bucky carefully worked his way through his checklist. He was probably being overly cautious considering that it was Thursday afternoon and he would be back Tuesday morning but he had learned that sometimes the extra preparation paid off. So he set his out of office replies on his email and updated the voicemail message on his scarcely used office phone. He prepared a list of things that he would need to follow up on first thing Tuesday morning when he returned. 

He had known when his paperwork had come through that he would have to leave directly from SI in order to be able to report on time. It wasn’t unusual. Most of his reporting dates ended up requiring him to prepare for that. It wouldn’t be the first time that he walked into SI in business casual, garment bag in hand, and leave in the afternoon in uniform with his duffle over his shoulder. 

The first few times had been amusing. Apparently it hadn’t made it through the interoffice gossip channels that he wasn’t completely unaffiliated if the funny looks he got as he left were any indication. He hadn’t put too much attention to it aside from the automatic situational awareness to categorize who and what was around but he had caught more than enough to find it amusing. The newness had, thankfully, worn off pretty quickly after that. Amusing as it might have been, Bucky had never particularly cared for making a spectacle of himself.

Either way, it was close enough to his departure time, that he had already changed. His regular daily work clothes folded and stuffed into his bag to be taken care of once he got back home and traded in for his uniform. It always surprised him that it still felt somewhat normal and yet at the same time unusually heavy. He knew that it was in his head, the uniform didn’t physically weigh any more or less than it had before. It was the thoughts and memories attached that added to the bulk rather than the material itself. 

Maybe that ought to be something to consider when his next review approached. But that was a few years off still so it wasn’t something to be helped at the moment. He would just grin and bear it like he had done for the last six years.

He was drawn from his thoughts and his checklist by a paper cup being placed on the desk to his right. Bucky couldn’t help the responding grin as he glanced up from his computer. “Hey Steve. Thanks,” he greeted, turning his chair to face the new arrival.

“You’re welcome,” Steve returned, though the usual confidence in the speech was traded for something else that Bucky couldn’t quite pinpoint.

Steve was doing that thing he frequently did, again. The thing where he seemed to just stare so intently at Bucky that it was just short of impossible to contain the urge to squirm. It wasn’t a  _ bad _ stare. If anything, it was pretty damn flattering to have Steve Rogers of all people looking at him like that. But the intensity was something Bucky had yet to figure out how to grow accustomed to. He cleared his throat awkwardly and took a long drink of his coffee, more for something somewhat productive to do than actual need or desire for the drink. 

“You’re-uh-You’re out for a couple days then?” Steve asked as he lowered himself into his usual chair. 

“Yep, I’ll be back in the office Tuesday morning,” Bucky answered, tilting his head in the affirmative. “You don’t have anything on the schedule before then so you should be good.”

“Right,” Steve nodded. Bucky hid a smirk behind his cup when he watched Steve’s eyes zero in on the polished silver, double-barred insignia, carefully and painstakingly placed in exact position the night before. His brows shot up and he tilted his head in curiosity. “I thought you were enlisted.”

“I was,” Bucky confirmed, setting his cup down and letting his smirk show clearly. “You really think they’d let an enlisted guy with  _ my _ sort of background and training stay non-deployable? I put in my packet back in ‘09, got picked up for officer the same cycle.”

Steve stared at him for a moment, eyes narrowed consideringly, “You never mentioned that.”

“What, you expected me to introduce myself by my rank?” Bucky asked with an amused smirk. “Morning, Captain Rogers, I’m Captain Barnes, good to meet you,” he added teasingly. “‘Cause that wouldn’t have been all sorts of crossed wires.”

“Well, no, of course not,” Steve huffed. “Not when you’re working for SI, that would have been all kinds of confusing.”

“Exactly,” Bucky nodded. “And I don’t know, it’s never really been relevant to conversation. I mean, who cares what my rank is as long as I can do my job. Doesn’t really matter, does it?”

“No, I suppose it doesn’t,” Steve agreed, though his expression was still reserved and thoughtful. 

“Either way,” Bucky added, shifting the conversation back onto topic as he eyed the clock and quickly began logging off of his computer. “I’ll only be out the couple of days but you’ve got my number and my email. I’ll have access to both for the most part. Maybe a little delayed on response times but still available so I’m not completely out of contact.”

“You’re leaving now?” Steve asked, watching as Bucky got to his feet and gathered his belongings. 

“Yup,” Bucky replied, pulling his duffle onto his left shoulder leaving his right hand free out of ingrained habit. “If I don’t leave now there’s no tellin’ what time I’ll actually make it in. See you Tuesday, Steve, don’t do anything stupid ‘til I get back.”

Steve snorted, “How can I? You’re taking all the stupid with you.”

“Ass,” Bucky grinned. “Just avoid the urge to taste your toes for a couple days, ain’t that hard.”

“I’ll behave,” Steve smirked.

“I’d buy that if I genuinely thought that you knew how to behave,” Bucky shot back easily, the office lights turning off as Steve followed him through the door. Bucky swiped his access card and typed his lock code after he closed it behind them, securing it until he came back. 

“I know how to behave,” Steve protested.

“Sure you do,” Bucky smirked as they headed toward the elevator, automatically falling into step together. 

“Okay,” Steve said in a tone that Bucky had come to recognize as his way of stepping up to some sort of challenge. “What do I get if I win?”

“Oh we’re placing bets now?” Bucky laughed. “Alright, Rogers. If you manage to keep your foot out of your mouth and your ass out of trouble for the next four days--a record for you, if I hear it right--what do you think you ought to win?”

Steve eyed him consideringly for a moment and then shot a glance to the elevator doors as they closed around them. Then he tilted his head and pinned Bucky with another one of those intense stares. “Dinner. You and me the next weekend we’re both free.”

Bucky froze, wary dread seeping through him at the same time that his stomach seemed to do an odd swoop. “You mean like a date?” he asked for clarification.

“Yes, like a date,” Steve confirmed steadily.

“Steve,” Bucky winced and dropped his eyes.

“Oh,” Steve said, a little awkwardly. 

“It’s not-it’s just,” Bucky groaned, glaring at the elevator doors for a moment before forcing himself to meet Steve’s eyes again. He didn’t want to have this conversation, not at all and especially not when there wasn’t time to  _ explain.  _ God knew that he  _ wanted _ to say yes--which in itself was another terrifying realization that he would definitely be discussing with his sister as soon as possible--but... “I don’t date, Steve. At all. It’s not a matter of-of, I guess, liking you or anything. It’s just. It’s a thing I can’t do.”

“ _ Can’t  _ do?” Steve repeated, some of the tension from Bucky’s initial stammering seemed to have faded, replaced by a more considering expression.

“Can’t,” Bucky nodded with a sigh, eyeing the numbers on the elevator that were somehow managing to change all too fast and entirely too slow at the same time. “You wanna do lunch the way we’ve been doing, the friendly thing we’ve been going on with then, sure. We can do that. But I don’t date, Steve.” 

The elevator doors opened at the ground level both too soon and not nearly soon enough but Steve was still studying him curiously. Bucky cleared his throat and led the way off of the elevator, oddly comforted in the way that Steve fell into step beside him same as always, despite the conversation. Steve’s fingers wound around his forearm before they reached the main atrium, pulling gently to a stop.

“I wasn’t trying to make you uncomfortable and I’m sorry for overstepping,” Steve said carefully. “Anything else can wait ‘til you’re back, right?”

“Right,” Bucky agreed, smiling slightly in relief. “I-uh-I do have to go though. Can’t be late.”

“See you Tuesday then,” Steve nodded, releasing his arm and taking a step back.

“Stay out of trouble until then,” Bucky reminded before giving a nod of farewell and making toward the door.

“I’ll do my best,” Steve smirked.


	5. Chapter 5

As had somehow become the norm over the preceding weeks and months, Steve found himself depositing a paper cup full of hot coffee out of the spill zone on James’ --Bucky’s-- desk before sitting in what had become ‘his’ chair in Bucky’s office. He studied the man in silence as Bucky typed away at whatever it is that had his attention on his computer. That, too, had become something of the norm. Steve going to his office and waiting patiently until Bucky found a stopping point and turned his attention to Steve's direction.

And Steve taking the distracted moments to observe without making Bucky feel as though he’s on display, that had become normal, too. Their conversation in the elevator--and Steve’s failed attempt at asking Bucky on a date--still lingered in his mind. It had held firm ever since Bucky’s expression fell from the cocky smirk he usually wore during their playful banter into something almost painfully wary. As curious as he was, Steve could admit that he loathed that he was responsible for the change.

The rapid clicking of fingers against keys came to a stop and Bucky turned in his chair, his face lighting up in a grin when he caught sight of the coffee cup. Steve wasn’t sure he understood why Bucky looked so surprised but excited every time he brought coffee but he knew that it was largely why he kept doing so. They sat in silence for a few moments longer, allowing Bucky the chance to enjoy the drink.

“Thank you,” Bucky said with a smile and Steve couldn’t help but return it. Apparently, another type of norm for them.

“You’re welcome,” Steve answered easily. After another beat of silence, Steve shifted slightly in his chair. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Shoot,” Bucky replied easily, tilting his head to the side curiously as he idly spun the paper cup in circles.

Steve wavered for a moment, feeling unsure of his wording. He didn’t want to alienate Bucky or put him on the defensive but the previous conversation lingered in his mind and he was almost desperate for clarification. 

“You’re not out, then?” he asked carefully.

The effect of the question was immediate. Bucky froze, the spinning cup coming to a stop, and his eyes widened in surprise. “Excuse me?” He said, tone tense and bordering heavily toward defensive.

“You said that you don’t,  _ can’t, _ date,” Steve said slowly, measuring his words even as he studied Bucky’s body language intently for any sort of tell that might give him more than words might. “But it’s not about attraction or being uninterested, is it?”

“I’m not,” Bucky interjected immediately, swallowing thickly and voice more unsteady than the smooth confidence Steve was used to hearing. “It’s not--I just--I don’t. I just don’t date.”

“That’s what you’ve said. And,” Steve winced slightly but continued with his admission. “Natasha seemed to feel that was an important detail to tell me as well.”

“Right,” Bucky said, his hands tightening around the paper coffee cup. His eyes dropped to the drink and quickly brought it up to take a measured drink. When he settled it back onto his desk, he didn’t seem to want to meet Steve’s eye again.

Steve knew that he should probably stop digging. It was pretty obvious that Bucky wasn’t entirely comfortable with the topic of conversation. On the other hand, Bucky had proven time and time again that he was more than willing to shut down a conversation that he wasn’t interested in having. Steve took that as his indicator to continue and sat forward in his chair, catching Bucky’s attention again and keeping his own locked into his careful observance of unspoken language.

“I’ve noticed, though,” Steve paused, frowning thoughtfully as he put his words together. “I’ve noticed that the few times Nat or Pepper have come by while I’m here, you’re entirely polite. Unaffected, even. Both are very, very beautiful women in every standard of measurement. But you don’t even blink. And then--and then I’ve also seen the way you’ve looked at Tony when he’s popped in. I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I won’t notice. Or what’s-his-name from Admin that stops in once in a while. You’re not unaffected then, or at least not in the same way you are with Nat or Pepper.”

“So I’m capable of noticing attractive people,” Bucky said warily. “What’s your point?”

“You’re capable of noticing and admiring attractive men,” Steve countered gently with a small smile. He sighed softly when he caught the wince that Bucky attempted to hide. “So, is it just the dating thing? You’re not interested in pursuing relationships? Just an attraction to the aesthetic?” Before his words could be mistaken--see, he was learning from Bucky’s careful coaching--Steve rushed to continue. “I’m not judging or-or trying to push. I’m just trying to understand.”

“It’s a choice,” Bucky said slowly but more firmly than he had spoken previously, more like his usual self. “It’s a choice, for me. A call I made a long time ago and I’ve stuck to it.”

“Can I ask why?” Steve asked carefully.

“It’s safer that way,” Bucky said with a slightly pained smile that toed the line of a grimace. He sighed and ran an unsteady hand over his face. Taking the coffee with him, he sunk back into his chair. “I’ve known since I was a kid that I’ve got no interest in women, not in that sense. Fought with myself a lot about it, actually. When it comes down to it, I can’t force myself to be entirely something that I’m not. I wouldn’t and won’t use and mislead some poor woman into something blatantly false just to play house. So. I just don’t.”

Steve frowned slightly. He could understand and respect his reasonings. It made sense and was actually pretty respectable to not drag anyone down with him. “Safer how?” he asked after a moment of consideration.

Bucky eyed him for a long moment and huffed a small, almost bitter laugh. “I’m pretty sure you know how it is with that kind of thing. Especially in close-knit specialized units. Add on DADT and the innate uber macho-ism that comes along with basically being the top dogs.” He shook his head and shrugged. “It would have been career suicide at very best. I went in expecting that I was going for the full 20-plus. I was a lifer. That part didn’t stick like I thought it was going to but even since then, until recently, I hadn’t had much of a reason to even consider changing my mind.” He let his head fall against the back of his chair and made another one of those almost-bitter laughs, “So, to answer your original question, no, I’m very much not out.”

Steve wondered for a moment if he had misheard. If he had somehow imagined the ‘until recently’. He wasn’t going to point it out or mention it but he did pin it in his mind for later review. He shook his head and frowned again. “You just told me a few months back that Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell was repealed, what, three years ago now?”

“You can change the rules all you want, Steve,” Bucky said wryly. “Changing the rules doesn’t mean you’re instantly changing a damn thing about the mindsets. You’re your own special case in that but at the ground level? It’s been a smarter play to just keep that door closed and locked than to invite that in.” He nodded sideways thoughtfully and shrugged, “The risks now, now that I’m out of those types of units and Ops, they’re less and different but, it’s kinda ingrained habit by now, you know?”

Steve fell quiet for a long moment, considering the conversation up to that point. It didn’t exactly sound like the complete shutdown that Steve had been anticipating, bracing himself for. It didn’t even sound like it was a habit that Bucky particularly wanted to maintain, only that it was what he knew and what was comfortable in its familiarity. Steve could admit that he was more than a little relieved. He wouldn’t press, he wouldn’t rush the man out of his comfort zone. But maybe, just maybe, if he moved patiently and carefully enough, there was a chance that he could convince Bucky that it could be a good thing. He could do that, regardless of what anyone else might say, Steve could be patient when he had good reason to be.

He nodded slowly, offering Bucky a small but real smile. “I understand,” he said quietly. “I think I’m as fully out as I’m gonna get since I blew off SHIELD’s demands and showed up at Pride.” Steve felt his smile widen when the comment drew a laugh--amused rather than bitter--from Bucky. “But I’m not going to judge or push you for not wanting to be.”

“Thanks,” Bucky said with a small, half-smile. He drew serious and visibly hesitated before speaking again. “You should know though that Steve Rogers coming out as boldly as you did? That’s a big thing. You just helped a whole lot of kids fight against a shit ton of self-doubt and criticism. I’ve been fielding emails left and right, printing them out and collecting them for you since I’ve been shut down from setting up a fan-specific email address for you directly.” 

He shifted in his chair until he could reach the small, two drawer filing cabinet and pulled a folder from the top drawer, passing it across the desk. “Here,” he said quietly with a more genuine smile. “Those are yours.”

“It’s nice to know I’m able to offer something of an assist,” Steve said, pulling the file closer but not opening it just yet. “Thank you.”

Bucky tilted his head thoughtfully, setting his coffee cup back onto his desk and leaning forward. “How far have you gotten into modern social media?”

“Tony and Clint have gotten me mostly up to speed, I think,” Steve answered. “I’m not as savvy as you probably are, all things considered, but I’m not entirely hopeless.”

“Good,” he said and then grinned so mischievously that Steve found himself frozen. That was entirely unfair, how was Steve supposed to behave in the face of  _ that? _ He forced his attention back on track when Bucky continued speaking. “I told you I’ve been blocked from setting up a fan-specific email account for you. But if Steve Rogers were to decide on his own volition that he wanted to have, say, a Twitter account or Instagram, or whatever else to connect with the public…”

It took a moment for Steve to connect the words but when he did, he felt his own grin stretch slowly across his face. “Well then, if I were to do that all of my own decision, I guess SHIELD might just have to deal huh?”

Bucky hummed thoughtfully, seemingly trying and failing to stifle his smile. “Considering that if you were to ask Stark nicely enough, he just might be able to keep SHIELD from being able to shut it down. Considering their current...relationship, I don’t see Stark being one to turn down an opportunity to push back at SHIELD.”

“No, Tony would take great joy in something like that, I think,” Steve mused. “I suppose though if I were to have direct access to the public, I might need someone to help me manage the whole public image thing, huh? Help me out with that whole foot-in-mouth syndrome that Nat keeps going on about.”

“Possibly,” Bucky smirked. “Can’t imagine who’d want to help pry that big ass foot out of any orifice though.”

Steve stared for a brief moment before his laughter overtook him. “Shitty job but someone’s gotta do it.”

“Poor bastard,” Bucky retorted, joining in easily. 

“Good thing you’re already on the hook for it,” Steve grinned. “Means I don’t have to go hunting for some poor SHIELD agent to do the job.”

“You really would end up a PR disaster if you did that,” Bucky said with a shudder that seemed to be only partially faked. “Yeah, yeah, Rogers, I’ll help you get yourself sorted out on social media. Don’t want you going out to taste your toes and undoing all my hard work.”

Steve snorted in amusement but pulled his phone from his pocket to shoot Tony a message about what they were planning. He closed the messaging and passed the phone across the desk. “Let’s do it then.”

“On your phone?” Bucky asked, brows arched high.

“I don’t do much work on computers aside from on Ops and post-op reports,” Steve shrugged. “Besides, it seems like everything’s available on phones these days.”

Bucky tilted his head in concession to the statement and quickly sifted through Steve’s phone to download the necessary applications. As soon as they were loaded, he quickly set to creating the accounts only to be interrupted by Tony’s sudden presence in the office.

“What’s this I hear about you joining the modern age, Cap?” Tony said by way of announcing himself. 

“Hey Tony,” Steve greeted. Bucky shot him a wide-eyed, vaguely panicked look, his face pinkened and then very deliberately turned his attention back to the phone. From where he sat, Steve could still see the pink climbing over his ears. Oh. The comment about catching Bucky  _ looking _ at Tony. Steve forced down a snort of amusement that settled alongside the sense of satisfaction of knowing he wouldn’t have to witness it again, this time at least.

“Getting him all set up, Barnes?” Tony asked, approaching the desk and dropping into the chair beside Steve’s.

“Just getting accounts sent up at the moment,” Bucky said, voice mostly steady but eyes remaining firmly on the device in front of him. “Figured showing him the ropes could wait a few minutes.”

“Good plan,” Tony agreed. “Make sure you use Capsicle for his handle, if it’s available. If it’s not, let me know and I’ll make it available.”

“Tony,” Steve groaned. “That’s a terrible idea.”

“It’s catchy,” Bucky said, shooting him a smirk. “Too bad ‘Star Spangled Man with a Plan’ is too many characters.”

Steve huffed a laugh and shook his head, “Such a fuckin’ jerk.”

“Careful, punk, I’ve got the naming powers right now,” Bucky shot back unphased.

“You’re the one wanting me to avoid a PR disaster,” Steve shrugged, pointedly ignoring the curiously amused look that Tony was sending his way. Yes, it felt an awful lot like flirting. It very well might actually  _ be _ flirting. But he wasn’t going to point that out and send them three steps back again, he could be patient when the need called for it. Sometimes.

“Yeah, yeah, I got you,” Bucky huffed, deftly spinning the phone to face Steve. “All yours, you pick the name since you’ll be stuck with it.”

Tony reached forward and snatched the phone from the desk with a cheeky grin, “Capsicle it is.”

“Tony, no,” Steve sighed, quickly plucking the device from Tony’s hands. But then he stared blankly at the screen and the line blinking at him in the text box. He didn’t have the slightest clue how to come up with a username. It seemed simple enough but apparently all those public image things that Bucky had been drilling into him had finally begun to sink in.

“Can’t I just use my name?” Steve asked after a moment.

“You could,” Bucky conceded. “But I think you’ll want to include something a little more identifying. Both ‘Steve’ and ‘Rogers’ are fairly common names. Something additional, along with getting you verified, will give a little more legitimacy to the account. Gives people confidence that it’s  _ you _ and not some mock-up fan account.”

“Right,” Steve said blankly. 

“It doesn’t have to be anything particularly flashy, Steve,” Bucky said gently. “I’ve noticed that you tend to sign most things with initials for your first and middle names. “What about something like ‘SpangledSGRogers’or similar?”

“Winghead,” Tony interjected, tone surprisingly encouraging with a touch of fondness. Steve glanced over to him in surprise and Tony shrugged, looking almost embarrassed. “WingheadSGRogers. Go with that one.”

Steve studied Tony for a moment before glancing questioningly to Bucky. Bucky shrugged and nodded, “It would work, if that’s what you want to go with. I suspect you’ll get questions asking you to explain the meaning but I don’t see it causing irreparable issues.”

“Alright, Shellhead,” Steve smirked. “Winghead it is.”

* * *

Food Network played on the television in the background of Bucky’s apartment that Friday night. Some competition show that Becca had gotten addicted to years ago that Bucky had never bothered to remember the name to--Becca always reminded him--but had long since learned not to change the channel until  _ after _ Becca left for the day. Sisters could be terrifying when properly motivated. They worked quietly side by side in Bucky’s small kitchen to put together dinner, trading small talk and giving Bucky the opportunity to catch up with the various goings on in his twin sister’s life.

They had always been close but Bucky’s deployments and the mess he came home in had initially put a strain on their relationship. His and Becca’s closeness had always lacked a filter of any sort. They both had always said exactly what it was they thought, what they felt, and exactly what they meant. They hadn’t ever had reason, before then, to tiptoe around conversations, to blunt their words with each other. But when Bucky had returned from his second deployment irritable and short-tempered, prone to getting unreasonably angry over the slightest thing or the wrong turn-of-phrase sent him, as Becca called it, ‘dead-eyed’, Becca had withdrawn, pulled back both out in an attempt to stop hurting Bucky and out of her own self-preservation. 

The first two years after Bucky had left active duty and transferred to his National Guard unit had been tough on the entire Barnes family. But especially for Bucky and Becca’s relationship. It wasn’t until Bucky had reinforced his daily routine to include ‘his’ time and he had spent months talking with a therapist that specialized in working with combat veterans that their relationship slowly began to recover. 

He had missed her. Even at his lowest, he had felt Becca’s absence more keenly than the rest of his family put together. Thankfully, four years later, they were as close as they had been as kids. Despite their separate, busy lives, they still made a point to make time for each other. To have days like this, with Becca coming by Bucky’s apartment or Bucky heading to Becca’s and spending the evening catching up and hanging out. 

Bucky was drawn from his wandering thoughts by a surprise poke in his side. He jolted at the tickling sensation and glared at his sister. “Do you need something?” Bucky grumbled.

“Yeah, you to get out of your big head,” Becca shot back with a smirk. “Where did I lose you?”

“Uh,” Bucky blinked, realizing that he had missed at least half of what Becca had been telling him about--her work? He thought that’s what she had been talking about. He grimaced guiltily, “Sorry.”

Becca hummed thoughtfully and shook her head, turning back to the various fresh ingredients on the cutting board in front of her. “Are you going to tell me or am I supposed to guess?”

“Was just thinking about, you know, right after I came home,” he answered quietly, turning his own attention back to the meat he had been working to prepare before he had gotten distracted. 

“I was so scared for you,” Becca murmured. “Mom was asking almost every week if I had heard from you.”

“I remember,” Bucky nodded. Becca wasn’t the only one who had withdrawn over those two years. Bucky had isolated himself from her and their entire family, had thrown himself into his security work at SI and his coursework just to be able to try to ignore his own mind. 

“You’re okay now, though, right?” She asked carefully. “I know you’ve hit rough patches since then, are you feeling like you’re hitting another one?”

“No,” he said, offering her a reassuring smile. “No, I’m alright. I’ve been staying pretty level lately.”

“The routine’s still working then,” Becca smiled, and nodded decisively. “Good.”

They fell into a companionable silence as Bucky slid the marinated beef into the oven and Becca carefully put the fresh stuff into bowls and covered them with plastic wrap and stacked them on a shelf in the refrigerator to be cooked when the meat was closer to being done. Bucky had to smile slightly when he realized that they were still able to work entirely in sync. The cutting boards and knives went into the sink while Bucky filled to mugs with coffee, passing one to Becca.

“So what is it, then?” Becca pressed as they settled on Bucky’s couch. She didn’t look at him, her eyes locked on the cooking show but her tone was unmistakably insistent. That was the thing with them, they both knew each other well enough to  _ know _ when something was off and the whole lack-of-filter piece of their relationship didn’t allow them to leave it be even when, maybe, they ought to. 

Bucky sighed and stole a few extra seconds by taking a long drink of his coffee. He knew that if there was anyone who had any hopes of being able to help him unravel the twisted up mess that was his mind, it was her. That didn’t make it any easier to talk about though. After a long moment, he leaned forward to set his mug on the coffee table before slumping back into the couch’s cushions.

“I...don’t know?” He admitted hesitantly.

“You don’t know,” Becca repeated. She frowned thoughtfully, head tilted and finally looked at him, her eyes studying him intently for a brief moment. “You don’t know as in you don’t know how to talk about it or you don’t know because it’s one of those mind things that you talk to that therapist about?”

Bucky considered the question before answering. “I don’t know how to talk about it. Or more like, I don’t know what it is so I don't know how to explain it?”

“Okay,” Becca said patiently, pulling her feet up onto the couch to curl her legs under her. Bucky was briefly reminded of the same way Romanov had settled herself into his desk chair. “Do you know the source?”

“I think so,” Bucky said, feeling the heat begin to climb his neck and ears the way it always seemed to anymore when thoughts or conversation seemed to settle on Steve.

Becca had clearly noticed the reaction, her grey eyes narrowing as she turned bodily to face him. “Out with it, James Barnes. Tell me what’s got you imitating a tomato,” she pushed. 

Bucky winced, launching off of the couch and snatching both of their mugs on the way to the kitchen, hearing Becca trailing behind him. Once his hands were occupied--first with refilling each mug and then with getting a jump start on the dirty dishes in the sink--Bucky hesitantly began speaking. Becca listened with all of the sure patience that he knew he could expect from her while he clumsily explained everything. From the early morning call from Pepper Potts and the interview to the suspicious things going on at SHIELD and the regular coffee and lunches in his office. 

As he spoke, they moved seamlessly from the small chores to fixing the potatoes and the vegetables that Becca had prepared. His words faltered and stumbled when he reached the point where he got to telling Steve about his deployment--in vague details, of course, Becca didn’t need that sort of shit in her head--and onto Steve’s attempt at asking him on a date and the cautious but curious questions during the conversation that followed.

When he finally came to a stop, dinner was ready and both of their plates had been served with utensils balanced carefully on top. Restlessly, Bucky double checked that the oven and all of the burners were off and pointlessly rearranged the pans on the stove. There were a few moments of silence that was broken by Becca’s soft sigh.

“Oh, Bucky,” she said with a fond smile. 

“What?” He frowned, shaking his head in confusion. The entire conversation-turned-confession had succeeded in bringing the chaotic thoughts back fresh into his mind along with the uncertainty that had been hovering around him for weeks. “I’m losing my entire mind, Becca. I don’t know what I’m doing or what the hell is going on with me.”

Her hands rose and rested firmly on his shoulders and she ducked her head until he met her gaze again. “Bucky, dearest brother of mine, I need you to breathe,” she said calmly. 

Breathing, it turned out, was definitely a thing he needed to be doing. He focused on slowing his breathing and matching it with Becca’s and slowly felt the harsh edge of panic begin to recede. Satisfied that he was as calm as he was going to get, given the conversation at hand, Bucky nodded to indicate that he was okay. Instead of releasing her hold, Becca pulled him into a tight hug that he immediately returned. 

“There’s nothing wrong with you, I promise,” Becca assured him as she pulled back from the hug. She carefully passed his plate and utensils over before gathering her own and leading the way out of the kitchen. She bypassed the table and settled comfortably back onto the couch, placing her plate on the coffee table, looking up expectantly until he followed suit.

“Bucky,” Becca started gently and then paused, clearly hesitant to say whatever it was that she had intended to follow his name with. That Becca of all people was hesitant to speak made him both concerned and wary. “Do you think that, maybe, you might love him?” she asked delicately. Bucky frowned, confused by the question but Becca pushed forward. “Don’t answer that right off with whatever’s first up in that head of yours. Think about it.  _ Really _ think about it and answer after dinner.”

She pulled her plate off of the table and settled it into her lap, eyeing him for a moment before digging into her food. Much more slowly, Bucky followed her lead even as his mind was spinning. Out of everything that Becca might have gotten out of his long winded explanation of his state of mind, Bucky could honestly say he wouldn’t have expected  _ that _ particular question would have been anywhere on the list. 

For all the effort they put into the meal they made, Bucky hardly tasted it as he ate. 

He didn’t love Steve, did he? At least, not any more or less than the friendly affection he felt for other friends. But even as he thought it, it didn’t fit quite right for some reason he couldn’t yet place. 

So, if that wasn’t quite right, what was? 

That odd twisting didn’t happen among his other friends. Nor did the unfiltered honesty or the want for more than he already had. He didn’t feel the same disappointment and guilt when he turned down dates either. The closeness he felt sitting across his desk or a diner table from Steve wasn’t like the kinship he felt around Becca, either. His sister was arguably his best friend as well as his sister. There was none of the familial affection toward Steve, that was different. 

_ Steve  _ was different. The smiles and laughs and teasing banter. The coffees and lunches. Bucky’s deployment. 

Well, shit.

“Figured it out, did you?” Becca said from beside him, watching him closely.

“Becca,” Bucky said blankly, staring at her with another wash of panic flowing through him.

“You’re okay,” she soothed, leaning sideways against his shoulder in support. 

“I-I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with this,” Bucky admitted.

“Whatever you want to do with it,” Becca shrugged. “Ignore it and keep things as they are? Tell him and see what happens? Choice is yours, Bucky, and you don’t have to do anything before you’re ready.”

“It’s not just that,” Bucky insisted. “I don’t date, Becca. Yes, that’s partially because I’ve not had any interest but there’s other reasons, too. You know that.”

“I remember,” she nodded, leaning forward to put her plate back onto the table before settling back against him. “That’s what I mean though. It’s entirely up to you what direction you want to take this.”

“I don’t know,” he sighed, head falling back against the couch.

“Do you want my opinion?” She asked.

“Always,” Bucky replied easily, the same answer he had always given that particular question since their relationship recovered.

“Tell him,” Becca said gently. “All of it. Why you implemented that rule to begin with. What you figured out about yourself and being AroAce when you did your research a few years back and what you’ve realized here tonight.”

“You want me to tell Steve Rogers--who just so happens to be a client and  _ technically _ my boss--that I’m apparently in love with him and had to have my sister explain that to be me because I have no idea what that actually means?” Bucky responded incredulously.

“Yep,” Becca grinned cheekily before her smile relaxed into something more genuine. “I really do think that’s your best option, Bucky. Everything you told me says that he’s been incredibly patient and respectful the entire time you’ve known him. I don’t think that’s something that’s going to change.”

Bucky nodded slightly in agreement at the ending of her statement, recalling Steve’s careful questions after the failed attempt at asking Bucky on a date, all for the sake of understanding Bucky better. Steve could have easily taken the rejection and backed off entirely. Retreated to the previous professionalism. But he hadn’t. In fact, he hadn’t acted or treated Bucky any differently following that conversation.

“Thanks, Becca,” he said quietly once he pulled himself back from his thoughts. 

“Anytime,” she smirked. “You’ll let me know how it goes?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said with a small nod. 

Becca’s smirk turned sly and she cocked her head, brow arched, “And when, exactly, do you intend on introducing your favorite sister?”

Bucky laughed and nudged her lightly, “Not my fault you never show up for lunch when I invite you.”

“You never told me that lunch conversations were going to be so interesting,” Becca protested.

“Oh, so lunch with me is  _ boring _ but lunch with Steve is interesting?” Bucky said with a mock-scowl.

“Yep, exactly,” Becca laughed.

Bucky shook his head and huffed another laugh. “This week sometime then?”

“Let me know when,” Becca agreed.

The rest of the evening went as normal as things got for Bucky and Becca. They finished dinner and Becca’s show before retreating to the kitchen for clean up. That had taken less than half of the time it usually took Bucky on his own, thankfully. When he saw Becca digging into his wine, Bucky took the time to straighten and make up the small guest bedroom that only saw use on nights like these and grab a pair of sweats for Becca to change into from his own room. 

They reconvened on the couch with a glass of wine each and the bottle settled onto the coffee table. Bucky indulged Becca, joining in on the critical commentary toward whoever was attempting to cook on the television.

“Hey, Bucky,” Becca said leadingly, halfway through their second bottle of wine and nearing midnight.

“Hey, Becca,” Bucky returned in a matching tone.

“Give me your tablet,” she demanded softly, holding her hand out expectantly.

Bucky frowned in confusion but dug it out of the drawer of the side table, unplugging it before unlocking it and passing it over. Becca leaned against him and opened the browser. After several long minutes of seemingly nonsensical searching, opening and closing various tabs, and reopening new windows, Becca handed the device back. On the screen was a browser window with a half-dozen tabs open. Some seemed to be personal blogs, others more professional looking resources. All of them seemed to have the same primary topic: demisexuality.

Bucky stared at the word for the long moment it took to register in his wine-soaked mind. His eyes scanned through the words on the open tab before he could help himself. He swallowed thickly, feeling a tad overwhelmed but undeniably grateful. Bucky knew that he would have to come back to it in the morning, give the material a more thorough read once the wine wore off. He pressed the power button on the tablet, setting it back onto the table beside him. He draped his arm over Becca’s shoulders and hugged her tightly, pressing a kiss to her hair. “Thanks, Becks.”

“Welcome,” she responded with a small smile, snuggling in closer. It reminded Bucky of when they were very, very young before their parents separated their beds and rooms for the sake of propriety and in their teens when one or the other was having a rough time, Becca with boys and the cruel kids and Bucky with battling himself and expectations. And then again when Bucky had finally been able to pull himself back to the surface following his deployments and their relationship began to mend. They had always been each other’s rock and comfort in the storms, even when adult life got in the way and they didn’t see each other nearly as often as they once did. 


	6. Chapter 6

Becca had hung around the rest of the weekend. They hadn’t done anything particularly exciting but it was good to have some down time with her. He had finally managed to put some actual attention to the research that Becca had pulled up for him later the next evening, once they’d settled in again. And...it was enlightening, if he was honest. And relieving. 

Bucky was well aware that he was still a mess when it came to these sorts of feelings and relationships. He had spent entirely too many years blatantly suppressing and ignoring anything to do with either that he wasn’t entirely sure that he would ever fully catch back up. Surprisingly, though, Bucky had begun to think that the massive learning curve might actually be worth the effort. As anxious as Steve’s attention tended to make him, he wanted more of it. All of it. The conversations and the hugs and.. just  _ more. _

Despite his own realizations and Becca’s near-constant encouragement, Bucky did not actually mention anything about any of it to Steve when he next saw him. Though, in his defense, there hadn’t exactly been a lot of opportunity considering Monday morning consisted of going with Steve to the Children’s Hospital. Ever since the first appearance that Steve had agreed to, it had actually become a regular thing. 

At least once a month without fail, Steve would suit up, shield attached to his back and visit a couple wards at the hospital, much to the kids’ delight. If something Avengers-related caused him to miss a scheduled day, the moment he was healed and his reports were complete, Steve would make sure to make up for the missed time. Occasionally, Steve would convince Stark or Romanov or one of their other teammates to accompany him but usually it was just Bucky in his dual-capacity of friend and manager.

If Bucky was honest, though, watching Steve gamely interact with the kids was absolutely  _ not _ helping with the whole feelings thing. The man was so damn genuine and kind. Listening attentively to what they had to say. Smiling and laughing with them. These sort of appearances seemed to come so naturally to him that it was really no surprise that he had taken a one-time request and turned it into a regular visit.

At the end of the visit, Steve approached Bucky with a warm grin that Bucky automatically returned as he handed over the duffle bag that they had brought along. They had taken to stopping somewhere for lunch following the hospital visits on the days that Bucky would accompany him on the visits and so, a change of clothes tucked inside the bag had begun to make a regular appearance. Steve accepted the bag, lifting the strap over his shoulder. His smile softened slightly and he shot a cheeky wink before taking off for the restroom to change. 

Bucky exhaled shakily as he watched him leave. If nothing else, the morning had made it very clear to him that the option to ignore it all and continue on as they had been wasn’t something that Bucky could bring himself to choose. Just spending the morning around a happy, grinning Steve had Bucky’s hands itching to actually reach out and his mind vibrating with the need to blurt out the truth as awkwardly and inelegantly as he was capable of doing. Just to get it out into the open. 

Just so Steve would  _ know. _

But Bucky was very determined not to do it like  _ that, _ at least. He made his living on using words and actions in the best possible combination in order to get the best possible results. Even if he was mostly flying blind, that wasn’t a good enough excuse to forget that.

Wrapped up in his thoughts as he was, Bucky didn’t realize that Steve had returned from changing until the man was standing right in front of him. Bucky blinked in surprise and looked up to find Steve eyeing him curiously and felt his ears heat in response to the sudden urge to greet Steve with a kiss. As thought they were somehow  _ that _ familiar. Which they weren’t. But that clearly didn’t stop the thought from intruding temptingly into his mind.

“Everything okay?” Steve asked quietly, keeping his voice pitched just low enough to avoid drawing passing attention to whatever might be wrong.

“Yeah,” Bucky assured quickly and then cleared his throat awkwardly. He shook the thoughts away and gave a more confident nod and smile. “Yeah, all good. Ready?”

Steve studied him a short moment longer but nodded and turned toward the exit. “Are we still on for lunch?”

“You know it,” Bucky agreed easily, falling into step beside Steve with the same ease that had existed from day one.

The conversation remained circulating around the hospital visit and the kids as they walked to the small diner they favored on these days. Bucky had his phone out and Steve’s schedule open as they discussed potential dates for next month’s visit. Bucky would have to keep in contact with the hospital staff until the date was confirmed, but that was one of his easier tasks. He didn’t mind.

It wasn’t until they settled into their usual booth opposite each other that the conversation shifted from business to more personal. Steve smiled his thanks when the waitress finished taking their order and left them to their own devices. Once she was gone he turned his attention back to Bucky and the conversation shifted.

“Did you have a good weekend?” Steve asked curiously. 

“I did,” Bucky smiled. “Becca came over Friday night. We don’t get as much opportunity to get together for more than a quick bite lately, so it was good. Spent most of the weekend with her.”

Steve nodded in understanding and smiled warmly. “It’s good that you guys got that, then. How’s she doing?”

“She’s good,” Bucky answered. “Keeping herself busy. She started the last year for her doctorate in the fall. Between that and working full-time, her schedule is just as busy as mine.”

“You said she was studying psychology?” Steve asked, brow furrowed in thought.

“Yeah,” Bucky nodded and smiled. “She’s working on specializing but I know that she’ll kick ass no matter what direction she goes.”

“What specialization is she working toward?” 

Bucky stilled for a moment and then huffed a quiet laugh. He spotted the waitress returning with her tray laden with plates and held off on answering Steve’s question until plates covered the table and she had left again. Grateful to have something to occupy his hands, Bucky picked up his fork and took a small bite of his food before answering.

“She won’t let me read any of it until she’s finished but she says she’s doing her thesis on the spectrum of human sexuality,” Bucky said with a small shrug, knowing that his ears were likely glowing the same way they had when Becca had originally told him about her decision. 

Steve blinked in surprise but looked suitably impressed. “I understand that’s still a fairly contentious topic?”

“Probably,” Bucky agreed. “But Becca wouldn’t be Becca if she didn’t see that as a challenge to do it anyway.”

“Good for her,” Steve grinned. Then he looked down at his plate, brow furrowing thoughtfully for a long moment before turning his eyes back to Bucky. “Just curious, but did she choose that focus because of--?”

“Me?” Bucky finished the question, feeling himself smirking slightly at the tentative way Steve had asked. He shrugged, unusually unbothered by the more intimately personal turn in the conversation but not entirely surprised by it considering it was Steve asking. “Yeah, I think so, anyway. She and I...we’ve always kinda been each other’s rock, you know? She bore the brunt of my confusion and frustration when we were kids and was the one that helped me figure out a lot of that shit. I can’t say that I was really all that surprised when she decided to keep running with that on a more professional level.”

“I’m glad you had someone like that in your corner,” Steve said genuinely with a soft smile. 

“Yeah, Becca’s awesome,” Bucky agreed. 

“Sounds like it,” Steve smiled. 

The rest of their lunch was spent in alternating companionable silences and easy conversation. A small part of Bucky felt a little lighter, just sharing that tiny piece of his own story, his own struggles, seemed to have taken a portion of the weight off of his mind. Even considering his anxieties, the idea of loving Steve didn’t feel nearly as terrifying as it had two days ago. 

It just felt right.

* * *

Bucky didn’t get the chance to say anything more to Steve the rest of the week, either. To his own surprise, he wasn’t quite as disappointed as he had thought he would be. Instead, he realized that he was actually pretty content to take his time to grow comfortable with the idea and to appreciate the easy comfort of Steve’s presence for what it was. 

What he  _ was _ actually annoyed with, however, was the current shitshow going on with the SHIELD team. He had received an email earlier in the week that he would need to stop by the SHIELD office to meet with the rest of the team. Suffice to say, Bucky was, as always, severely unimpressed by the attempts at intimidation and power plays. 

For an intelligence agency, these guys sure seemed to be lacking a basic understanding of the management structure. 

Bucky’s jaw ached from how tightly he had held it clenched in irritation by the time the meeting finally ended. He didn’t even bother with being polite when he took his leave. These idiots didn’t deserve his good manners, as far as he was concerned.

Things hadn’t improved much after the meeting, though. The moment he stepped out of the conference room, Bucky very nearly ran directly into Brock Rumlow.  _ Fuck.  _ He had done his absolute best to avoid that asshole every single time he’d had to come by SHIELD and had been successful at managing anything more than a passing glance. Up until that point, at least.

“Barnes,” Rumlow greeted. “Long time, no see.”

“That it has been,” Bucky agreed, forcing his expression to remain neutral and not reveal the deep-seated hatred for the man in front of him. 

“Hear you’re playing OB for Cap, these days,” Rumlow smirked, rocking back on his heels but seemingly proud of himself for the little dig.

“Something like that,” Bucky responded evenly, unwilling to give the man the benefit of a reaction.  _ Office Bitch. _ Bucky wasn’t unfamiliar with the snide jab at a man ‘stuck’ doing the office work. Frankly, he didn’t really care enough about Brock Rumlow to actually take offense. He wouldn’t give the man that kind of power over him. 

“If you ever get bored,” Rumlow said, clearly ignoring that Bucky had no desire to talk to him and falling into step beside him as Bucky made his way to the building’s exit. “I’m sure I could put a good word in for you. Get you on one of the STRIKE teams.”

Bucky internally flinched heavily away from the very idea of working alongside a man like Brock Rumlow again but managed to contain his outward reaction to a dismissive smirk and an arched brow. “I’m good with where I’m at.”

“Suit yourself,” Rumlow shrugged. “Lotta big things about to come down the pipeline. You’ve always been on SHIELD’s short list, if you change your mind.”

Being on SHIELD’s shortlist didn’t feel like an accomplishment and, coming from this guy, it felt like more of a threat than the welcome it was worded as. Bucky let that thought float in his mind for a moment alongside the many other inconsistencies that he had noticed. Guard up, he shot Rumlow a blank look. “Might as well take me off the list, doubt I’ll be leaving Stark Industries anytime soon.”

Something shifted in Rumlow’s expression at Stark’s name, almost smug-like, that Bucky didn’t quite understand but joined the list of observations. “Never know,” he said. “Life has a funny way of changing people’s mind in unexpected ways, doesn’t it, Barnes?”

His instincts balked at the phrasing. Bucky allowed himself a single nod and felt a rush of relief at the sight of the front doors. “Sure,” he agreed idly. “But, unlike some, I’ve got work to do so, I’ll see you around.”

Without giving Rumlow a chance to respond, Bucky pushed through the doors and out onto the sidewalk. Forcing himself to maintain a casual pace until he got to his car, Bucky exhaled heavily as soon as the door was closed firmly and he was in the relative safety of the vehicle. The drive to the tower--slow and traffic packed as it was--went by quickly with Bucky lost in the swarming sea of thoughts as puzzle pieces attempted to fall into place.

He was admittedly relieved when, shortly after getting back to his office with his mind still buzzing, Steve’s broad frame filled his doorway. A heavy sigh escaped him and his shoulders dropped at Steve’s appearance causing Steve’s brows to furrow in concern. 

“Good, you’re here,” Bucky said. “We have a problem. Or, at least I think it’s a problem.”

Steve pushed the office door closed behind him and approached, setting the paper to-go cup of coffee on the desk before sitting carefully in his chair. His body language was tense and alert, eyes sharp and jaw set. “What’s going on?”

“There’s something going on at SHIELD,” Bucky admitted with a grimace at the vagueness. He ran a hand over his face and through his hair, rattled and yet hyperfocused in a way he hadn’t been since his last deployment. 

“Talk to me, Buck,” Steve urged gently. 

Bucky took a slow, deep breath and felt the battle-ready calm settle over him as though he was in a nest about to put his eye to his scope. He rolled his chair the length of his desk until he could unlock and open the middle file cabinet and shoved the folders all the way against the back of the drawer to pull a folder off of the bottom. It was an ingrained habit to keep record of things that sent his instincts blaring and even more so to keep hidden hardcopies. After all, paper and folders couldn’t be hacked or ‘accidentally’ deleted. 

He handed the folder filled with the various correspondences he’d had with the SHIELD team over the last year. Every page had notes in his own handwriting and highlighted sections where Bucky had noticed that things  _ weren’t quite right. _ While Steve sifted through the emails, Bucky explained. He told Steve about his growing suspicions that the SHIELD team was trying to subtly sabotage Steve’s public standing for some unknown reason. Trying to intentionally set him up for failure. About how Bucky had spent the last year running interference and trying to mitigate the attempts and the failed tries at power plays and intimidation. And finally, the odd and unsettling conversation that he had with Rumlow just that morning.

“I don’t know what this is, exactly,” Bucky admitted at the end. “But something’s going on, Steve, and I don’t like it.”

Steve nodded slowly, eyes distant and jaw clenched. After a moment, he set the file on Bucky’s desk and dug out his phone. He typed briefly on the screen before setting his phone face up on top of the file folder. It was only five minutes later when Bucky’s office door swung open and Tony Stark appeared, closing the door firmly behind him.

“What’s up, Cap?” he asked guardedly as he sat in Bucky’s other visitor chair. 

Steve passed the folder to Tony and reiterated the list of things that Bucky had just confided. “We need to get into SHIELD’s servers and figure out what the hell is going on and get Bucky off of their radar.”

Tony glanced up to study Bucky intently for a moment before nodding crisply. The conversation turned into something of a battle strategy meeting from there. It was strange, being so many years removed from active combat and yet actively participating in this conversation with Steve Rogers and Tony Stark of all people.

“He said that you’re on SHIELD’s shortlist?” Tony asked speculatively.

Bucky nodded. “Romanov said as much too, when she dropped in a while back,” he confirmed.

“That must have been a delightful conversation,” Tony mused with a slight smirk. “I have to wonder exactly what that list is meant for.”

“Think you can find out?” Steve asked, smirking at Tony’s slightly affronted expression.

“Barnes,” Tony said, pointedly not bothering to answer Steve’s question. “This goes south, I’m pulling rank and sticking you back to security detail for the duration. We need your skill set there.”

“I can do that,” Bucky agreed easily. 

“I’m heading down to the lab,” Tony said then, pushing out of his chair. “J and I’ll start digging. See what we can find. You two coming or going to hangout here?”

“I think it’s probably best if we sit tight for the time being,” Steve said thoughtfully. “If only to not show our hand too soon. I’ll be down later, Tony.”

“Got it. See you then, Cap,” Tony nodded crisply. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, pausing just before the door to turn back. “I’m going to have J do a sweep of your office, Barnes. It’s pretty routine these days for the whole building but…”

“Better safe than sorry, I got it,” Bucky nodded. He mentally berated himself for not thinking of that earlier. With as much time as Steve had been spending in his office, that probably should have been a routine box on his checklist. He’d become entirely too complacent, he realized. 

Tony left then without another word, pulling the door closed again after he disappeared through it. Bucky sighed and sat back in his chair, running a weary hand over his face before letting it fall into his lap.

“So what now?” He asked, looking across the desk to Steve.

“Now we wait,” Steve said with a wry smirk.

“Hurry up and wait,” Bucky mused sarcastically. “Awesome.”

Steve laughed, “Yeah, I’ve never been too good with that part either.”

In the end, Tony agreed to pass along anything of relevance that he found when he went trawling through SHIELD servers back in his lab and took his leave, muttering under his breath. 

Steve sighed and leaned back into his chair, shaking his head before turning conversation firmly away from SHIELD and all of the associated inconsistencies. An hour later, he too excused himself and left, wishing Bucky a good night before he left.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a little more action than the previous and is where the "Canon Typical Violence" and "Minor Character Death" come into play. It is not graphic but it is there.

The following morning, as he was getting dressed for work, Bucky’s phone pinged with an incoming message. There were really only two people who tended to message him that early in the morning. Bucky frowned slightly, plucking the device off of his nightstand and unplugging it before unlocking it. He thumbed to the messages and opened the newest from Steve.

_ Got called down to DC for the next few weeks. I’ll keep you in the loop. Stay safe, Bucky. _

His frown deepened as an uneasy feeling sunk into his mind. The sensation he always got when something wasn’t quite right, leaving him tense and hyper aware of the minute details. With everything going on, he didn’t like the idea that Steve was suddenly called down to what basically amounted to the heart of their current problem.

Bucky was well aware that Steve was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. While Steve tended to be almost terrifyingly reckless on a good day, he was more than aware enough to be smart with it. That didn’t make him worry any less though.

He sighed and put the wandering thoughts to the side for the moment. There wasn’t anything he could really do about any of it. He might as well focus his energy on the things that he  _ could _ do. Out of habit that only showed up these days when he was particularly on edge, Bucky did a quick walkthrough of his apartment. When he was certain that there was nothing out of place, he grabbed his wallet and keys and headed into the office.

All things considered, it was a pretty typical day. On the surface, nothing changed. There was no difference between that day and the dozens of others like it where Steve hadn’t dropped by for one reason or another. He answered emails, took calls, and spent entirely too long lost in the routine of planning, scheduling, and research. 

Through it all, though, the underlying edge of  _ waiting _ for something clung tightly. He was almost ridiculously on edge. He hoped that if there was anything noticeable in his tones or actions throughout the day that his coworkers attributed it to him being caught in  _ one of those days. _ Considering that he had begun working at SI during his post-deployment funk, he thought that they were all well-aware that his bad days generally tended to look very similar to this. 

When he got home for the night, he couldn’t settle. Out of desperation for something, anything normal, he called Becca. It only took the strained greetings for her to pick up that something wasn’t quite right. Not that Bucky was surprised.

“Bucky,” she hesitated. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” he answered immediately and then sighed. “Just. Just on edge, Becca.”

“Want me to come by?” She asked promptly. 

“Nah,” Bucky said with a slight smile. “No, I know what your schedule looks like. This works just as well.”

“You sure?” Becca pressed. “I could bring my computer and some of my notes and work on this paper on your couch as easily as I could work on it on my own.”

Truthfully, Bucky really,  _ really _ wanted that. The familiar comfort of having his sister close when his nerves were frayed like they were. But that ingrained instinctual voice told him that it was a terrible idea. That it would draw unwanted eyes and attention to her. Put her at risk. That she might be put in danger simply by association. 

Bucky hated those intrusive, paranoid thoughts. He especially hated that he had no true idea how much of it was actual risk and how much was purely in his paranoid mind. Either way, he couldn’t and wouldn’t risk it.

He cleared his throat and made a point to speak more calmly and reassuring. “No,” he said. “No, it’s alright Becca. I’ll be okay. There’s no sense in dragging you halfway across the city just because I’m a little rattled.”

Becca hummed thoughtfully but let it go. “So have you talked to Steve yet?” she asked.

Well that was one hell of a change of topic, wasn’t it. He huffed a short laugh. “No, I haven’t,” he replied. “Things have been weird at work and he’s been called out.”

“Are you planning to, though?” She pressed. “Because I really don’t think it’s going to mess anything up, Bucky. He’s obviously into you, too.”

“Yeah, I’m-I’m wanting to talk to him about...all that,” Bucky sighed. “Maybe once he’s back from wherever they’ve sent him this time. But that’s enough about my funky brain. How’s your thesis coming?”

Becca groaned dramatically and Bucky grinned. They talked for nearly an hour after that about anything and everything. It was comforting. By the time they hung up, Bucky felt a little bit more like himself. There was still an edge of paranoid unease but he knew that it wasn’t going anywhere. Not until this SHIELD-issue was sorted out at very least. But it felt more manageable for the moment. 

The next day was different though. Bucky pit stopped at the breakroom on his way to his office for coffee. He had to admit that he missed Steve’s penchant for coming by with coffee in hand. Frankly, he just missed Steve. Which Bucky wondered if wasn’t weird. It was only the second day and Steve had gone longer stretches without stopping in at Bucky’s office.

“Barnes,” a sharp voice drew him from his wandering thoughts. Bucky looked up from his coffee to find Tony standing in the doorway of the breakroom. “Come with me.”

All of the disquiet that talking with his sister had settled the night before came flaring back, hot and bright. Bucky quickly finished pouring his coffee before trailing quickly after. He forced himself to hold off on asking his questions and getting answers as they walked to the elevators. Once they were safely ensconced in Tony’s lab, however, all bets were off.

“What’s going on?” Bucky asked tensely.

“Well,” Tony said crisply. “You were right. There’s definitely something fucky going on at SHIELD. I haven’t been able to get to the source yet but it’s fishy and I don’t like it.”

“What have you been able to find?” Bucky questioned, glancing around the open lab space. Any other time, Bucky knew that he would be drowning in absolute fascination but, currently, his mind wasn’t quite in the right place to allow for it. 

“Not nearly as much as I care to admit,” Tony admitted with a grimace. “I’ve got J’ scanning through files though.”

Bucky frowned in confusion. “Why am I here then?”

“Because your name has already come up entirely too many times in what I  _ have _ already found,” Tony said frankly. “And I thought that dragging you down here might be preferable to just having JARVIS turn on audio-visual in your office so that I can keep an eye on you.”

“I--yeah, definitely preferable,” Bucky agreed slowly, forcing down some of the tension that flared at the idea of essentially being spied on. “Why would you need to keep an eye on me anyway?”

“Because you work for me,” Tony said, meeting his eyes evenly. “And you're important to Cap. Which means that you’re one of ours and we look out for each other like that. Is that a problem?”

Bucky stared at him for a long moment, knowing that his surprise was likely very obvious in his expression. He swallowed thickly and shook his head slowly. “No, not a problem,” he said, finally.

“Good,” Tony said with a firm nod. “Which is why, effective immediately, you are reassigned to Security. I’ve already had Pepper adjust the paperwork to reflect that you work for SI in dual roles. It’s all in the clear.”

“I’ll go get suited up then,” Bucky said with a quick smile. 

“You do that and get your ass back here,” Tony agreed. 

“Yes, Sir,” Bucky quipped, stealing another glance around the lab before ducking out again.

Bucky reported to the small Security team armory without hesitation, fastening the familiar belt and holster with confident, well-practiced ease. As he smoothed the velcro closures over the kevlar tactical vest and tugged his jacket back on over top, he felt some of the nervous tension running through his body begin to ease. He took the time, out of habit, to carefully disassemble and reassemble his issued weapons to check for any dirt or damage that might compromise their effectiveness. 

Logically, weapons coming from Tony Stark’s security armory were unlikely to be anywhere remotely defective, but Bucky knew better than to fall into laziness. That sort of thinking is what got people killed. As soon as they were fully reassembled and loaded, Bucky triple checked the safeties before holstering them and securing the closure over the grip of each one. Finally, most of the buzzing in his mind settled. 

Bucky knew that they might be proactively overreacting with raising the security level and procedures at SI. That whatever threat SHIELD potentially posed might very well never set its sights on the tower. But knowing Tony’s contentious relationship with the agency and that the man’s technological capabilities had him on SHIELD’s radar for years, and Bucky’s own interactions--both from that nightmare-ish mission and while working with the PR team--and apparent spot on SHIELD’s supposed shortlist, they weren’t taking any chances. 

Say what you wanted about Tony Stark’s public persona but it was blatantly obvious to Bucky that the man had a mile-wide protective streak and wasn’t afraid to do whatever it took to keep his people safe. Bucky could respect that quality in a person. 

He stopped in his office to grab his laptop, the folder-full of notes that he had shared with Steve and Tony that had led to the current situation. When he got back down to the lab, the door slid open automatically. Bucky had to admit that it was both awkward and surreal to be there, even if he was invited. 

“Sir has cleared space for you at the couch to your left, Mister Barnes,” JARVIS’s voice greeted him. Bucky nodded idly, following the instructions and settling in. The rest of the day was equally tense but otherwise uneventful. Bucky didn’t like it. At all. The whole ‘calm before the storm’ thing was overrated.

He had warily assumed that the following day would be more of the same. Radio silence from Steve and sitting in Tony Stark’s lab, armed to the teeth, and waiting for hell to break loose.  _ Hurry up and wait, _ he thought dryly.

Then his phone pinged. A message coming through from an unknown number.

_ Lay low and stay safe - sgr _

Bucky stared at the message for a long moment before it fully registered. His laptop was on the cushion beside him and Bucky was on his feet before he realized that he was moving. “Tony,” he called. “Think whatever it is that we’ve been waiting for might’ve just started.”

“What?” Tony frowned absently, thoroughly distracted by whatever it was that he was working on.

“SHIELD,” Bucky clarified. Tony’s brows shot high and his attention snapped to Bucky as though he’d said some sort of magic word. “Just got a heads up to lay low.”

“JARVIS?” Tony said sharply.

“I am unable to trace the origin of the message,” JARVIS responded promptly. “It appears that the device was disconnected from service immediately following the message being sent.”

“Burner,” Tony muttered with a thoughtful frown. “J’ pull the news stations we’ve been tracking and I want to see SHIELD’s internal monitoring.”

Immediately the room filled with projected displays. A half dozen news stations--all muted, thankfully--and a single one dedicated to the skimmed internal chatter and monitoring feed from SHIELD. 

There was nothing of interest at the moment but both Bucky and Tony seemed glued to the various displays. And then, seemingly without prompting, Steve’s face filled every one of the screens. Each one of them were saying that Steve was a fugitive and a person of interest in the death of some high ranking federal official.

SHIELD went a little further and identified that federal official as Nick Fury.

The entire situation left Bucky stewing in a combination of restless anxiety, worry, and the itching need to  _ do something.  _ It had been a long time since the call to combat had hit him this hard and heavy but everything in his mind was screaming that he should be there. On some rooftop perch covering Steve’s six in every way he knew how. But Steve is in DC and Bucky’s stuck in New York.

“I’ll eat my suit if Rogers had anything to do with Fury’s death,” Tony scowled.

“You know him? Fury, I mean?” Bucky asked curiously. While he had been tangentially connected with SHIELD since his disastrous deployment and apparently on their shortlist of wanted assets, Bucky didn’t know much about the Director. 

“Oh yeah,” Tony said, scowl turning slightly bitter around the edges. “He knew my old man. Suffice to say that he and I don’t have the same report that he had with Howard. He’s a very ends-justify-the-means type of person. He’s not my biggest fan and I think it’s safe to say that the feeling is mutual.”

Bucky hummed thoughtfully before giving into the restless energy rushing through him and beginning to pace. He kept his eyes on the displayed feeds, watching and waiting for more news on what the hell was going on down in DC. 

There hadn’t been any further communication with Steve since Bucky had received the single text from the unknown number. According to what information Tony had been able to gather, though, Steve wasn’t entirely without support. Romanov had gone to ground and a couple of the news stations had reported a man with wings sighted with Captain America. 

“What’s the chances I could get there?” Bucky asked Tony, almost idly.

“Don’t tempt me,” Tony replied, staring at the active feed from SHIELD. “Don’t think Rogers isn’t going to hear about this when all this is over. He and Itsy Bitsy should have called me in.”

“How can we help remotely?” Bucky asked, head tilted as his mind ran through various tactical avenues. “I mean, even in a perch I’d be almost useless without knowing exactly who my target is and we both know I’d get the orders to target Steve.”

“So let’s find ourselves a target, shall we?” Tony smirked, hands immediately typing a way and attention zeroing in on SHIELD’s database.

“Please tell me it’s Rumlow,” Bucky scowled. “I’ve wanted another chance to shoot that asswipe for years.” Tony’s smirk grew amused but he didn’t otherwise respond.

A shrill alarm from his pocket broke Bucky’s attention away from the monitors and Tony’s rapid-fire conversation with JARVIS. He pulled his phone out and stared at the alert on the screen, brows high and then he narrowed his eyes consideringly.

“Just got notified that my apartment’s been broken into.” Bucky said blankly. Tony’s head jerked around and eyed him warily. Bucky smirked but it was more resigned than actual amusement. “I imagine I’ll have quite a mess to sort through once this is all over.”

“There’s residential quarters here in the tower,” Tony said shortly. “You’re using one of them until then. You’re not going back there.”

“I figured,” Bucky sighed. It was probably going to be a long time before he was entirely comfortable in his own home again after this. “But thank you. I appreciate not walking into what’s undoubtedly some sort of trap.”

Unfortunately for Bucky’s fraying and agitated sanity, the rest of the day and the day following was more of the same. Watching the news report that Captain America was a wanted man. Listening to SHIELD chatter that mostly amounted to nothing of real interest. Bucky alternated between pacing restlessly, joining the security team in doing periodic sweeps of the tower, and attempting to focus on getting some of his work done. Tony didn’t seem to be any better off. 

And still no word from Steve.

The lack of information was easily the worst part.

“Barnes,” Tony called out, voice tense and clipped on the fourth day. 

Bucky jolted to his feet, letting his laptop fall onto the couch cushion that he abandoned. He was at Tony’s side in an instant and followed Tony’s gaze where it was locked on the stretch of display. Bucky felt a bolt of confused panic rush over him. 

What the  _ hell _ was that? 

News crew cameras frantically panned out and zoomed in alternatingly. It was an almost dizzying effect, attempting to watch it. Immediately, JARVIS preemptively displayed another feed that was a compilation of various recordings being shown in real-time. Those were just as unsteady and dizzying, yet morbidly fascinating to watch. Bucky stared in nauseating awe as three massive helicarriers slowly rose out of the Potomac River. 

A sideways glance at Tony found the usually hyperactive man shocked just as still. Eyes wide and focused but breathing coming more quickly. Bucky swallowed anxiously as he turned back to the projected screens. The helicarriers were still climbing higher into the sky over Washington DC. Bucky didn’t know what their purpose was but he didn’t suspect that it was anything particularly good.

Just as the helicarriers seemed to hit their desired altitudes, a shrieking alarm sounded through the lab--and, Bucky knew, throughout the entire tower. Something, somewhere, had a target locator locked onto the tower. Bucky’s eyes widened, still locked on the horrifying display as he immediately shoved the security team communication into his ear, knowing that the rest of the team would be doing the same. 

“Barnes, go,” He bit out shortly, listening as each of the team made contact, one after another. “Keep me updated,” Bucky called as he bolted from the lab. 

Tony gave a jerky, distracted wave as he turned his own attention to locating the threat. They shared a wide-eyed glance, somehow knowing that they had just watched the threat to the tower rise out of the Potomac River. Bucky shoved aside everything else, dropping his mind swiftly into his battle-awareness. 

Half of the security team was assigned to evacuating the tower’s civilian population to safety. Bucky’s half, however, went in pairs to sweep through the tower top to bottom, combing through every closet, conference room, and apartment to ensure there were no internal threats waiting as back up. 

Johnson trailed behind Bucky, covering each time that Bucky ducked into a room to clear it and providing the second set of eyes that the detailed sweep required. The guy hadn’t been on the Security team the last time that Bucky had worked with them. There was nothing that particularly stood out about the guy. ‘Bland’ was the first word that came to mind. He was the sort of guy that would get lost in a crowd, blend in without even having to try.

Apparently, he had only just started at SI just a few months prior but the man wasn’t green on even the more complex security protocols. It definitely helped to speed up the slow process to have someone at his six that knew what the hell they were doing, even if turning his back to the guy made his skin crawl and instincts shriek as loudly as the alarm blaring through the tower.

It had taken twenty minutes to work their way through just four floors, each one almost eerily empty once the occupants had been evacuated. Other than the sharp shrieking of the alarm that was still blaring and the muffled sounds of their footsteps, there were no other sounds that Bucky was capable of picking up.

Then the alarm cut off just as abruptly as it had started. 

The sudden silence shot an icy feeling of dread down Bucky’s spine that he couldn’t for the life of him place. 

“Barnes,” Tony’s voice said in his ear, an odd strain to the man’s voice.

“What’ve we got?” Bucky responded, not halting his search even as he spoke.

“You’re gonna want to see this,” Tony responded. “How much longer do you have on the sweep.”

“We’ll wrap it up,” Bucky promised firmly. Tony acknowledged the statement and the line clicked in Bucky’s ear indicating that he had been switched back to the team channel.

“What’s going on?” Johnson asked quietly.

“Not sure,” Bucky frowned. “Somehow I doubt it’s anything good.”

“Suppose it depends on the definition of good,” Johnson mused. 

Bucky grunted in response, neither agreeing or disagreeing. It wasn’t exactly prime time for conversation. Johnson, for all his otherwise professional disposition, apparently hadn’t gotten that memo. The man just kept talking.

“I mean, obviously whatever was targeting the tower either did its job already or was stopped, right?”

“Only one of those meet my definition of good,” Bucky muttered.

Johnson hummed in something that might have been an agreement. “Was that Stark?” he asked curiously. 

Bucky forced down the noise of irritation that threatened to burst out at the constant, unnecessary chatter. “Yes, that was Stark, now will you shut the hell up?”

Johnson huffed but, thankfully, fell silent. Bucky only had a brief moment to spare on the mild sense of relief before he felt the man close in behind him and the cold metal of Johnson’s weapon pressed against the base of his head. Bucky stilled, a disbelieving huff of laughter escaping him. 

“Don’t like bein’ told to shut up then?” Bucky asked dryly, discreetly redistributing his weight. This guy. 

“Not particularly, no,” Johnson responded. “You know, we wanted you with us on this one, Barnes. Had our eye on you since ‘04.”

“SHIELD?” Bucky asked evenly.

Johnson hummed again, “The intricate web embedded within SHIELD, yes. We’re bringing order from chaos but then you just had to go running to Stark, didn’t you? Lost your spine somewhere along the way, Barnes?”

Embedded in SHIELD? Bucky’s mind raced at the odd phrasing. “Haven’t lost anything that I didn’t want to lose,” Bucky responded.

“Given that your pal is still alive enough to be talking on comms,” Johnson said, ignoring Bucky’s words all together. “It would seem that the Project failed and that it’s up to the rest of us to conduct clean up. It’s okay, Barnes, you tried but you were always going to fail.”

“The rest of who?” Bucky asked, taking a slow breath and preparing himself to move, well-aware that guys liked these wanted to be heard before they followed through on whatever action they might be planning. The guy was an uninformed idiot at the very least. Anyone with the type of training that Bucky had gone through knew better than to get this close to someone skilled in close-combat. Bucky wasn’t going to point that out and lose his own advantage, though.

Even still, he battled his automatic response to cringe when the man’s body pressed against his back. The barrel of the weapon didn’t even shift as Johnson leaned further against Bucky until he felt the nauseating sensation of the man’s breath on his neck. “Hail Hydra,” Johnson said lowly, inches from Bucky’s ear.

Bucky’s mind joined his stomach in the spiraling lurch at the words. Before he could fully register the decision, Bucky was moving. Relying fully on instinct, skill, and muscle memory. He twisted his body suddenly, hand driving up against Johnson’s wrist to shove the weapons’ barrel to the ceiling. A sharp twist of his hands around Johnson’s wrist released his grip and sent the gun to the floor and out of immediate reach. Once he started, he knew that he had to see it through, following up with a sharp blow to Johnson’s sternum and then his nose, grimacing when he caught a couple hits of his own. The vest had muted some of the impact of the hit to his gut but his face wasn’t nearly as well-protected. 

Johnson stumbled backward with a pain-filled, furious shout, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. Bucky braced himself as the man geared up, body language declaring loudly that Johnson was prepared to charge forward with all the blind elegance of an enraged bull. As soon as Johnson darted toward Bucky, Bucky brought his weapon up and aimed with practiced ease. The man didn’t stop, didn’t hesitate in his movements. So neither did Bucky. 

The shot echoed through the confined space of the hallway they had been searching. Bucky immediately lowered his gun to follow as Johnson’s form dropped to the floor. He kept Johnson’s form in his weapon’s sights as he cautiously approached. 

“JARVIS,” Bucky called as evenly as he could with adrenaline still pumping through his system. “Did Tony catch all of that?”

“Yes, Sir. I notified Mister Stark immediately and he had requested audio and visual surveillance of the situation,” JARVIS answered promptly despite the fact that he very rarely revealed himself so blatantly on these particular floor levels. 

“Johnson’s vitals?” Bucky prompted.

“None that my sensors are able to detect, sir,” JARVIS responded.

Bucky exhaled heavily, allowing the grip on the gun to loosen and his left hand to fall free. He glanced around the hallway, attempting to gather his thoughts. Before he could organize them, however, his comms unit buzzed insistently in his ear. Bucky bit back a huff and reached up to switch it on. “Barnes,” he said shortly.

“What the hell was that?” Tony started in immediately. “Did that jackass really pull the Hydra party line? In my tower?”

“Sure seems that way,” Bucky sighed, switching his gun from his right to his left hand but not yet confident enough in the situation to reholster it entirely. “Seemed to think you were the target for whatever set off the alarm, too.”

Tony was silent for a beat and then Bucky heard him sigh. “Yeah, about that. I’ve got people heading your way for clean up and processing. JARVIS recorded the whole thing so you’re off the hook for now as far as statements go. You need to get your ass back here and see this.”

“Do I want to know what ‘this’ is?” Bucky asked even as he carefully stepped around Johnson’s body on his way to the stairwell. No elevators for him today, not with his mind still locked into battle-mode. He very carefully didn’t ask if Steve was okay no matter how badly he wanted the confirmation. 

“Probably not,” Tony admitted promptly. “But you need to. For all parts of your job at very least.”

“On my way,” Bucky responded, taking the steps two at a time. “You do know that Johnson probably wasn’t the only SHIELD plant, right? And that there’s a good chance more of them might be like that guy, especially if you’re a target?”

“Already working on it,” Tony responded darkly.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are! The final chapter of Managing Trouble!
> 
> I hope that you enjoy the fic and the gorgeous manips by britt_pknapp. 
> 
> Take care and I hope everyone stays happy and healthy <3

Tony’s jet landed him in DC the very next morning. Bucky had to admit that he was decidedly unsurprised when Romanov met him at the airstrip. She didn’t stick around long, though with what Bucky now knew to be the fall of SHIELD and HYDRA, he imagined that she had quite a bit on her plate. Bucky spared a brief moment of sympathetic dread to the state of his own inbox whenever he finally got back to his office, knowing that his workload was probably considerably lighter than hers was. 

She eyed the dark bruising on his face as she quickly and concisely briefed him on Steve’s condition--stable and improving, thankfully--before pressing a small thumb drive into his hand. Bucky frowned at the device and glanced back to Romanov. “What’s this?” he asked.

“Every piece of documentation that SHIELD kept regarding the 2005 Joint Operation that you were assigned to,” she replied. At his surprised expression, she shrugged. “Let’s just say I know all too well what it’s like to not know who’s calling the shots. And the doubt and questions that it leaves behind. I know that it’s out there now but I thought you should know what’s on that file without having to go dig for it.”

Bucky swallowed thickly and nodded once, “Thank you.”

She offered a small half-smile and a nod, falling into step easily beside him as he started to walk to the waiting car. She didn’t get in, though. Walking him to the vehicle seemed to be as far as she was going. “What’s next for you?” he asked curiously.

“Deal with the fallout,” she shrugged. “After that? Who knows. I suddenly find myself short one employer.”

Bucky huffed a small laugh and shot her an amused look, “After that, I hope you’ll find your way back up to New York. An obnoxiously bright colored birdie tells me that an invitation’s already been sent out to you all.”

Romanov smirked and shrugged, “I suppose we’ll just have to see. Go take care of him, Barnes.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Bucky responded with a lazy salute, pulling the car door closed. He eyed the thumb drive for a long moment before tucking it safely into his pocket. He knew that he would look at the file, maybe even finally find some answers, but there were more pressing matters just now.

It took awhile for the car to navigate the chaos of traffic and destruction on the way to the hospital. The closer they got though, the more anxiety Bucky began to feel. He had settled into accepting what he felt for Steve before all of this. The acceptance had come far more easily than he had anticipated immediately following his conversation with Becca. He had expected the clawing nerves and uncertainty to cling harder and longer.

But now Steve had almost died and there had been Johnson’s weird attempt on Bucky. It was  _ different _ now. More pressing and urgent. Bucky realized that he didn’t  _ want  _ to be patient any longer. He didn’t want to sit across from Steve at lunch and see his  _ friend _ looking back at him with that smug, cheesy grin he wore when he said something that made Bucky blush or laugh. 

The car pulled to a stop at the hospital’s entrance and Bucky quickly hopped out with a hasty thanks passed to the driver. He strode through the hospital as quickly as he could while still walking instead of running, following the directions that Romanov had given him to find Steve’s room. 

He came to a stop in the doorway to Steve’s room, chest aching something awful at the sight of Steve’s battered and bruised form. Movement drew Bucky’s attention to the man sitting at Steve’s bedside and his mind quickly recalled what information he and Tony had been able to find. This must be the man with the wings that the news coverage had spoken about. 

Bucky slowly entered the room, noticing the immediate way the man’s posture shifted from exhausted but relaxed to wary and on high alert. Dark eyes shot suspiciously up to where Bucky stood. Bucky offered a small smile and extended his hand in greeting. “Bucky Barnes.”

“Sam Wilson,” Sam returned the greeting with a firm handshake and slumped back into the visitor chair, relief evident.

“Sorry,” Bucky said, keeping his voice low to avoid disturbing Steve. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Nah,” Sam shook his head. “Not your fault. This whole week’s got me on edge.”

“I hear that,” Bucky agreed tiredly. “How is he?”

“Doc’s came by a bit ago,” Sam answered. “They think he’ll be coming around soon. Serum’s doing its job, it just has a lot of work to be doing.”

“What about you?” Bucky asked, lifting another visitor's chair and carrying it closer to the bed rather than dragging it noisily across the floor. 

Sam snorted a laugh and shook his head again, “Like I could sleep for a whole damn month and not regret a minute of it.”

Bucky muffled his own amusement, his attention inevitably straying back to Steve’s still form. “Tony and I were only able to find so much even with all his resources,” he said quietly. “We knew he fell from one of the carriers but couldn’t find anything on what happened.”

“Tall, cocky white guy with a bad haircut and a face that begs to be punched, spouting Nazi bullshit,” Sam said bitterly. “Cap recognized the guy, I think. Rumble or some shit like that?”

“Rumlow?” Bucky asked, feeling his anger rise and knowing his expression likely matched. 

“That’s it,” Sam confirmed with a nod. “Caught Cap up on the helicarriers. Best we can tell they duked it out up there but we don’t know for sure. Won’t know until he wakes up and decides to fill us in.”

“What happened to Rumlow, do you know?” Bucky asked carefully.

“As far as I know he went down with the ship,” Sam shrugged. “I suppose they’ll be fishing him out of the river at some point.”

“Missed my chance to shoot the fucker,” Bucky muttered, fingertips idly tracing the outline of the thumb drive through the denim of his jeans. “Should’ve taken the chance years ago and we wouldn’t be here.”

“Just as likely that we’d still be right here,” Sam countered, exhaustion evident in his tone. “Hydra would have just had someone else up on that helicarrier doing the exact same thing.”

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed reluctantly. “Glad he had you and Romanov at his six for the whole mess, though.”

“You know, all those stories they’ve told about Steve Rogers,” Sam huffed and shook his head in something toeing the line of disbelief. “Never once did they give us a head’s up that the man’s a little bit of an asshole.”

Bucky laughed, surprised and automatic, at the echo of his own thoughts months earlier, “Isn’t he, though?”

“He mentioned that you were SF?” Sam asked curiously.

“Yeah, six years. Two back to backs,” Bucky nodded. “Switched it up to National Guard six years ago, went O. Glorified paper-pusher these days.”

“I get that one,” Sam said with a commiserating grin. “PJ, two tours. At the VA now.”

“PJ? No shit? No wonder I thought those wings looked something familiar!” Bucky said, brows shooting high. “We ran a couple indirect OPs with one of your units. Only time I ever regretted going Army.”

“Air Force is where it’s at,” Sam agreed smugly and Bucky couldn’t help but grin at the easy banter, despite the situation.

“On your left,” a slurred, scratchy voice interrupted groggily.

Sam and Bucky both jolted and turned quickly to face Steve who was awake and smiling weakly. “About time you wake your lazy ass up,” Sam teased, though even with hardly knowing the man, even Bucky could hear the relief in the words.

“Felt like a lie in,” Steve said with a grin that was painfully weak in comparison to his usual ones. Slowly, Steve’s attention shifted from Sam to Bucky. “Hey, Buck.”

“Hey Steve,” Bucky replied with his own weak smile. “You look like shit, pal.”

“Feel like it too,” Steve admitted, very obviously battling against the urge to fall back to sleep even though he had only just woken up.

Without allowing himself an opportunity to hesitate, Bucky reached out and took Steve’s hand in his own, mindful of the IV’s and monitors attached. Giving Steve’s hand a careful squeeze, Bucky smiled. “Go back to sleep, we’ll be here when you wake up again,” he said, stealing a questioning glance to Sam, who nodded once in agreement.

Steve frowned, clearly wanting to argue but rapidly losing the battle against sleep. He huffed in frustration and then was back under just as quickly. 

True to their word, both of them settled in at Steve’s bedside, taking turns for food runs and breaks but making sure at least one of them was always there in case Steve woke up. Making idle conversation and playing rounds of cards with the deck that Bucky had picked up from the small gift store to pass the time. 

It worked well and Steve made rapid progress that would have been impossible for anyone else. Though, Bucky had noticed the hint of surprise in his expression each time he woke to find one or both of them still there. By day three, he was already getting moody about having to stay bedridden. Something that Bucky knew he probably shouldn’t find nearly as endearing as he did. 

The hospital agreed to release him on day four, confident that he had healed enough that there shouldn’t be any major setbacks in his recovery. Steve refused assistance with changing out of the hospital gown and into his own clothes and had bulked at the idea of taking the wheel chair to the car. Sam had taken off a few hours previous, going home for some solid rest and then a change of clothes before diving into clean up efforts that were already sweeping through the city.

Just before they were set to leave the hospital, Bucky’s phone rang--despite having put on silent as soon as he got to the hospital days before-and he sighed, knowing without having to look who the caller was. He swiped to answer and brought the phone to his ear, “Barnes.”

“It’s about damn time you answer your phone,” Tony said immediately. “What’s the point of even having a phone if you’re just going to ignore it? Anyway, that’s not important right now. J’ says that Cap’s been released and that it’s public knowledge. Just a head’s up, there might be reporters camped out waiting for you guys to leave. And by might be, I mean there are.”

“You knew that I wasn’t sticking to Security full time again,” Bucky pointed out. “I’ll make sure it’s taken care of. It’s kinda my thing these days.”

“Right,” Tony said and then promptly continued. “They’re camping out at the tower too. Waiting for him to come back, probably. If you’re wanting a smooth arrival, I’d suggest taking the car up to Silver Spring--I’ve already had Pep make the arrangements, she’s good at discretion so you know it’s safe. Anyway, plan on taking it easy for a day or two before coming back to New York. Give it time to settle.”

“I’ll pass that along and let you know what the call is,” Bucky responded noncommittally. Tony hung up then with a quick ‘goodbye’ and Bucky rolled his eyes at the man’s mannerisms. He quickly briefed Steve on the situation and Steve sighed.

“Impromptu press conference, then?” Steve asked.

“I’d recommend it,” Bucky nodded. “It would be the smart move. The longer you avoid them, the more outrageous the story is going to get and the less control we’re going to have over the direction. Right now, the majority of the media’s focus is on Romanov and the files you guys dumped on the internet. They know that you were severely injured but the extent has been kept pretty quiet. All we need to do at this point is address that specifically. Yes, you were injured. Yes, you are recovering. Let them see and hear that you’re in one piece.”

“Sounds easy when you put it like that,” Steve smirked.

“Just wait ‘til we get back to New York,” Bucky responded. “We have a week, at most, to get back to work before the narrative gets completely away from us.”

“Okay,” Steve sighed. “Okay, let’s do this.”

Bucky nodded and then hesitated before determinedly pushing forward. “Also, when we get back up to New York, I was thinking that maybe we could, you know, go to dinner? Once you’re feeling back to usual.”

“Dinner?” Steve repeated, blue eyes going sharp in intensity as he studied Bucky’s expression. 

“Dinner,” Bucky nodded nervously. “You and me.”

Steve opened his mouth and then immediately closed it again, eyes narrowing speculatively. Cautiously, he asked, “As in a date?”

“Yes,” Bucky confirmed as steadily as he could manage.

“Are you sure?” Steve pressed, inching closer to where Bucky stood.

“Absolutely positive,” Bucky smiled and then ducked his head, his usual confidence abandoning him. “I’d-uh-wanted to ask before all of this but then SHIELD lost its collective mind. When I realized and everything all started to actually make sense, I thought that maybe I’d just have to find the right time but then everything happened.”

“Bucky,” Steve interrupted gently. “What did you realize?”

Bucky faltered for a moment, staring wide-eyed and exposed up at Steve. He swallowed thickly and shrugged awkwardly. “I realized that I love you and, at first, I didn’t...That’s not really something I really know what to do with.”

Steve’s responding smile seemed to lessen the weight that the previous week had settled onto his features. He shifted forward again, closing the space between them down to barely a few inches. “I’d love to go to dinner with you, Bucky.”

Bucky stared up at him in surprise for a brief moment, the words slowly settling into his mind. “I’m…” he started and then paused. “I know we’re standing awkwardly in your hospital room trying to get ready to leave but I’m going to kiss you now.”

Grinning warmly, Steve ducked his head just enough to accomodate for their difference in height, meeting Bucky halfway. It was a sweet kiss, chaste but promising. When Bucky’s hands rose automatically to cup his jaw, Steve’s arms wound around his waist, tugging him gently closer. 

“Come on,” Steve murmured, pulling away just enough to speak. “Let’s go deal with this circus act so we can get out of here.”

“Sounds good,” Bucky agreed. “We’ve got a day or two in Silver Spring to look forward to before heading home.”

Steve hummed low and thoughtful, “S’pose we’ll have to come up with some way to occupy ourselves then.”

Bucky felt his ears begin to heat at the suggestiveness in his tone but managed a smirk. “I suppose we will,” he agreed.


End file.
